The First Record

Dimly light street lamps line the dark alley, I hear a distant playing of a fiddle, accompanied by the singing of joyful festival goers. My shoes tap against the worn, cobblestone street. If only I had quieter shoes. The clank of metal against stone behind me causes a shiver to go up my spine. I’m being followed. I think to myself. I start to walk faster, and the clanking of the walking stick starts to speed up. I break into a sprint and dive into a pile of hay beside a farmers stand. The clank gets closer then stops right in front of me. I hear the person curse under their breath. It was a man’s voice, gravelly from decades of smoking. I know that voice. Vaughn Allitt. As the clanging of his cane gets farther and farther away, I poke my head out from my hiding place. Allitt was gone. I speed in the opposite direction I heard him go, and finally stop at a pub. The Iron Clover it was called. All the lights were on, but it looked vacant. Unusual. I attempt to open the door, but it’s locked. I knock at the door. No answer. Another knock. Again no answer. I raise my hand to knock again and the door creaks open, revealing a beaten and bruised old man, who I knew as Mr. Caroll, who owned the pub. 

      “Mr. Caroll! What happened?” I whisper yell, taking his arm and helping him to a chair. 

      “They know.” He mutters, gasping for breath. I close the door to the pub, locking it. 

      “We need to get you somewhere safe.” I say, turning back towards the old bartender. 

      “It was very foolish of you to come back to your hiding place young man.” A voice growls. Vaughn Allitt steps out of the shadows. He walks towards Mr. Carroll and I go to run at him. “Not another step unless you want this cutlass in his heart.” He threatens, brandishing a sword. I’m much faster than he is. I can get to Mr. Carroll before he can. I go to tackle him to get him away from Allitt. But before I could reach him the end of the sword protrudes from his chest. I was too slow.