It was a dark moonless night in Wethersfield. Lightning flashed throughout as I galloped into the small town. It was small and nothing in the least like Saybrook. The buildings were shaped crudely and quickly. I shook my head as I knocked on the door of one of the houses. A brown haired cripple answered the door; she looked at me oddly and smiled. I flinched as she did.
"Hello. Is this Wood's household?" She nodded and I ignored her for a second, my eyes studying the inside of the house, noticing its smallness. Inside two men and a woman were seated, obviously discussing something. "Oh, excellent. I was called for by a certain William Ashby." The cripple's eyes lit up and she led me inside, chattering excitedly.
"Father, the man William sent for is here!" The cripple beamed happily and went about introducing me to everyone. After the pleasantries had been exchanged Mr. Wood turned to me and raised his brow slightly.
"Well, that's all of us. Who exactly are you?" He said this with such power for a farmer that I laughed slightly; perhaps he read it as an insult for he frowned suddenly and gave me a glare that was rather frightful.
"Excuse me, sir, I can't believe I forgot. My name is Harold P. Lovecraft 1 I was sent by my mentor Dr. de la Poer to handle this case. He's currently off in London on business." I smiled good naturedly and returned his gaze. The answer must have been good enough for the man for he lessened his frown and shook my hand.
"When do you start?" His eyes pierced through me like a sharp sword.
"In the morning, sir. First could you please tell me what happened to the girl?" He nodded and motioned to one of the chairs by the fire. I sat down in one and he took the other.
Notes:
1 Harold P. Lovecraft is an alteration of the name Howard Phillips Lovecraft, A noted writer who Idolized Poe's style of writing.