The deep silence of the small room was broken by the sound of key in the lock, turning to unlatch the simple wooden door. Slowly the door opened and he entered his less than extravagant rented room. He closed the door behind him with a faint "click", he hadn't bothered to re-lock it. It was dark in the small room, the only light coming from the single window that looked out over the alley, the moons light bathing the room in an eerie glow. He thought about lighting the candle, and that was enough that it almost went aflame, but he decided against it, feeling more comfortable with the silence and shadows this evening.

A bottle of whiskey hung from his hand, his fingers wrapped about the neck of the bottle so lightly that it seemed it would drop to the floor. He sat down on his bed and deposited the bottle on the floor beside him. He leaned back, laying flat and staring up at the ceiling, black as a void in the failing light, his vision slightly blurry, aided by the alcohol he had been consuming this night. He had much to think about.

He had arrived in Rhydin quite by accident. Truly he had no idea how he had gotten here. His only memory was a roaring inferno, exploding towards every end of his vision, before settling into silence. When he awoke he had found himself in a forested clearing, the ground and trees blackened by fire, wisps of smoke rising here and there, evidence of the destruction that had taken place. He closed his eyes now, remembering the week of wandering that had brought him into the city proper.

There was something else now. A vision of destruction and death found its way into his mind. Blistering and burning flesh were in front of him, and his hands, now crimson as if stained with blood, were moving to inflict more pain upon the tortured soul before him. He wanted to scream, to run, to escape this nightmarish scene. His hands continued to move, their will no longer coinciding with his own. He was pulling long knives from a pit of fire, claws extending from his fingertips, as he removed the glowing hot blades with a singular purpose" Pain. He watched as it seemed that he was drawing the torture device across a screaming woman's skin, half cutting, half searing the flesh open. The wounds were cauterized as soon as they were created. The life blood would not be spilling out. The pain would continue until he sought to end it. He could feel the wrath and anger flowing through' him' He was not sure that this was him. He knew that he did not want to continue, did not want to hurt anyone, but it was so real. Even now he was lost to the fact that he was still sitting on the edge of his own bed within his room. "Mr. Marsden" a sinister voice called out to him. The evil inflection in the words brought him out of the vision, sweating, as the woman's screams from his dream had now become his own.

There it was. The letter he had received only days before, with its crimson lettering scrawled across it. "Mr. Marsden" The voice escaped the nightmare and had read the title on the envelope, causing even more terror within the young man. He sat for long moments, hours possibly staring at his desk and the letter upon it. Finally he gained control of himself again. He stood, walking to the desk. He had to force every step, his legs seeming as anchors, as he dragged his feet across the room. He made it to the desk and forced himself to tear open the envelope, fearing that if he hesitated he would leave it there forever to haunt his dreams, and now his waking hours, tormenting him slowly into a spiral of sorrow.

He read the letter by the moonlight coming through the window, word for word, slowly mouthing everything that was written. He got to the bottom of the page, tears welling up in his eyes, the amber glow now gone dark. Finishing the letter he dropped it to the floor. He was not far behind. He collapsed on the wooden floorboards, staring at the wall but looking miles away, his mind taking him far from the darkened room. He managed to stop his sobbing and pull himself up onto the bed once more. His eyes closed now, and in no more than a whisper he uttered the words that had been burned into his mind. Those words that had taken the strength from his legs, and brought him to the ground.

"The sins of the father?? And darkness took him.

"You should burn them! Kill them all, you know you have the power to do it. Why do you run from it' Where do you think you will go' When they find out' find out what you've done!"

"Leave me alone!" He screamed into the blankets on the bed. He hadn't left its confines in over a day. There he sat, a pillow covering his face, begging and pleading for the voice to leave him alone. He had been unsuccessful in driving it away. It had been showing him images, things that appeared to be him inflicting torture on the innocent.

"Listen to you? "Leave me alone!" Your pathetic! How could you even be my blood?"

"I'm not you! I'm not like you! I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Oh that is true. You are nothing like I was. You are a disappointment. But we can fix that. You will hurt people. You may not want to' yet alas you will. That is your punishment!"

"Why am I being punished" I've done nothing to you!" He threw the pillow across the room, sailing into his desk and knocking several empty alcohol bottles to the floor. He got up from the bed now. He was yelling, and pointing at the pillow, needing something, anything to focus his anger on. "You're the one who does these things! You hurt and tortured those people!"

"But of course I did, silly boy. And you will continue my work. Your punishment will be the punishment I can no longer inflict! You are the cause of that , and now you will do my bidding!"

"Why are you haunting me" Why must I do these things you demand?" He was slowly losing his mind. He had seemingly been arguing with himself since the morning before. There had been no meals in that time, he hadn't been eating hardly at all in the last week. The whiskey had run out sometime the previous afternoon. Its intoxicating effect no longer easing the images, and the voice had begun taunting him, trying to turn him against himself.

"Haunting you? How interesting for you to word it so well. You must take on my' "experiments" because its your fault I cant continue them! How quickly you dare to forget the pain you have caused. You are the one who killed me! You are a murderer" and you will do it again!"

The words struck him as if they were a physical blow to the chest. Terror racked his body, drained the life from his limbs. He found himself on the floor again, knees to chest, curled up in a ball on the cold wooden floorboards. He was muttering to himself, his mind in the clutches of this demon. This ghost as it would seem. He didn't believe that he had ever killed anyone. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it.

"Oh you think you can hide from your past' You think that because something is unpleasant that you can just forget what you've done. You murdered me! Believe it you sniveling fool!?

The voice had one more punishment in store. One more trick up its sleeve. One last vision for the tortured young man. The scream that erupted from the small rented room could not even be considered spoken word, it was simply a wail of pain and misery, and again, darkness took him.