There, in the centre of the maze, stood a tall crypt, gargoyles posted at each corner, as if protecting what lay inside. The ravens watched him from where they were perched above the crypt, as Peter stood there scrutinizing how the years had not been kind to the tomb. Out of the depths of the maze walked a woman, her long black hair flowed as effortlessly as her ivory summer dress.

“Are we to always meet like this?” she asked Peter, as his eyes stayed transfixed on the crypt.

“The names have even corroded away,” Peter observed, finally looking at the woman. Her skin was pale; her eyes were so brown they almost looked black.

She nodded. “Not everything can last forever,” she whispered, giving a weak smile.

“If only that were true,” Peter responded, with a note of sadness in his voice.

Peter walked to the stone bench in front of the crypt and sat down. He looked down at the left sleeve of his black shirt and brushed off some of the fine conifer leaves. The woman came and sat beside him.

“You do realise who has booked into the Manor?” she asked.  Peter nodded, affirmatively. “Do you think we can pull it off?” she asked.

Peter looked at her. “Without a doubt” he assured the woman, as she stood up and started walking away. She turned and looked back at Peter.

“Until later Peter,” she said, as she walked off barefooted into the maze. Peter got up and made his way back to the Manor.


He could hear the phone ringing as he entered the back door. He made his way swiftly into the foyer and picked up the old brass phone.

“Welcome to Ravencroft Manor, this is Peter speaking,” he answered.

A familiar voice on the other side replied “I need you to run an errand for me, before midnight.”

“What now?” Peter asked. Just then he heard the lift jolt as it started to ascend the lift shaft. “I will get back to you later,” he assured the person on the other end. He put the phone down as he heard people talking in the lift above. He straightened his work clothes and stood tall behind his oak desk as the lift began descending.