The Haunted Abbot

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‘Please close the door, Brother. The wind is blowing the snow in here and it is already cold enough.’

Brother Eadulf turned from where he had been peering in disgust through the half-open door of the inn, out into the dusk at the whirling snowstorm. He reluctantly pushed the door shut and fastened the wooden latch before facing the small, stocky innkeeper. The man, with balding head and cheeks so red that they seemed polished, was regarding him with some sympathy.

‘Are you absolutely sure that there is no available transport to Aldred’s Abbey?’ Eadulf had asked the question several times before. What was the innkeeper’s name? Cynric? Yes, that was it.

The innkeeper stood, wiping his hands against the leather apron that covered his corpulent form.

‘As I have already told you, Brother, you and your companion were lucky to have made it this far before the storm started in earnest. If you had missed this tavern, there is no shelter between here and the River Aide.’

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