Once upon a time, not so long ago and not so far from here, a Count lived in a hill. You've read it correctly: no castle, nor mansion for this fellow and your regular cave was way too mondaine. He built his city, his village and his estate, his roads, rivers and bridges and covered them with dirt. High pillars and vaulted ceilings protected the most magnificent sceneries from the envie of his rivals. The Count envisioned the place to be one of peace and prosperity, but soon his dream became a nightmare.
Cut off from the Sun's light no lettuce would grow on the acres of field. The chickens refused to lay eggs, the cows stopped producing milk and the pigs did nothing but sleep. The people living in the hill who were blessed with eternal life barely moved an inch themselfs.
Weeks went by and their skin slowly turned as white and felt as cold as the first snowfall. Months passed by and their eyes became as black and lifeless as coal. Years passed by and they became nothing more than a bag of bones, longing for help.
The entrance to the hill was well-hidden and the county less-known. It took decades before playing children discovered the door. Curious they opened it. Colored glass welcomed the small rays of sun. Soon the entire hill was bading in the warm summer sun. The desperate beings drowning in their own misery suddenly had hope. With all their might they screamed out for help, but they had forgotten how to speak. Only agoning moans crippled out of their teethless mouths.
Frightened the children closed the door and ran home.
Frightened the children closed the door and ran home.
"Did you here what Matteo claims to have seen?" a father said to his drinking buddy in the pub, "A haunted city in those hills. That kid sure has a lot of imagination. He might become a writer some day." The two men laughed. The bartender however didn't think it was a children's fantasy.
That night he grabbed a torch, a gun and a big empty bag. He ran up the hill to where the children were playing that afternoon, found the door and slowly opened it. The light of the torch multiplied in the glass structures. The beings had newfound hope. Help is on its way. They screamed their lungs out. "Over here! Save us!"
All the man could hear, was moaning. He held up his gun and walked in the direction of the closest moans. His legs were shaking. When he turned around the corner he shut his eyes.
Hang on. Nothing attacked me. Then what's making such a terrifying noise?
He carefully opened one eye to examine his surroundings. The place was filled with diamonds, silver and gold.
On an over the top decorated throne the Count sat. His skin looked even paler with the ebony behind him. His long thin white hair reached the bartender's feet. The Count barely managed to rise his arm. His long nailed finger pointed at the bartender. "Save us," he murmered when the last bit of strength left his arm.
On an over the top decorated throne the Count sat. His skin looked even paler with the ebony behind him. His long thin white hair reached the bartender's feet. The Count barely managed to rise his arm. His long nailed finger pointed at the bartender. "Save us," he murmered when the last bit of strength left his arm.
The bartender came closer. He realized the Count couldn't move. He looked around and noticed none of those creatures could.
He filled his bag with all the gold, silver and diamonds he could find. He stole the jewelry from people's necks, arms, ears and heads. Bag after bag with the finest items were carried out of the hill that night. The bartender didn't leave those unfortunate beings empty-handed, though. He ran back to the pub and rolled tons of the cheapest shittiest booze he could find up the hill. He drenched them all in alcohol and threw in the torch.
Once upon a time, not so long ago and not so far from here, a Count lived in a hill. Now he's no more.
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