Your bridegroom is six feet under in the frozen timber, Clara, and crying won't buy your fare back to Missouri.
The wind outside shrieked, a wild, mournful sound that seemed to echo the groaning of the house itself. Elijah stood opposite me in the parlor, the Colt revolver steady in his hand, its barrel glinting in the dim lamplight.
“My plan is ruined,” I repeated, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. I kept the lamp between us, its light a fragile shield. “Because I know what you did to Silas.”
His eyes, wide and unnerving, flickered. “Silas died of lung-rot. A common ailment.”
“No,” I countered, shaking my head. “He didn’t. He went into that cellar seven nights ago. He found something. And you murdered him.”
A slow, chilling smile spread across Elijah’s face. He lowered the revolver slightly, a gesture of absolute confidence. He truly believed he had won.
“Ah, you spoke to Thomas,” he chuckled, a harsh, dry sound. “The weak boy. He always did have a vivid imagination.”
“The pocket watch,” I pressed, pushing forward. “His silver watch, stopped at 3:15 AM. Covered in black well-silt. Silas didn’t die peacefully in his bed, Elijah. He died in that well.”
Elijah’s smile widened, twisting into something truly grotesque. He looked like a man about to confess a great secret, enjoying the reveal.
“Indeed,” he drawled, raising the revolver again, this time pointing it at the floorboards, almost playfully. “He was a nuisance. Always interfering with my… arrangements.”
He shifted his weight, his gaze sweeping around the parlor, as if admiring his handiwork. “Silas became suspicious, you see. Kept insisting he heard ‘voices’ from the well. Voices calling for… sustenance.”
My stomach turned. “Sustenance? You mean blood.”
“Precisely,” Elijah said, a low, satisfied laugh rumbling in his chest. “The old legends are true, Clara. This land sits atop an ancient vein. Rich beyond measure. But it requires… an offering.”
He finally met my gaze, his eyes alight with a terrifying, unhinged glee.
“I tried to reason with Silas. Told him it was for the family’s prosperity. He refused. Called me a devil.” Elijah shrugged, a gesture of dismissive annoyance. “Foolish man.”
“So, what did you do?” I demanded, my voice barely a whisper.
“Simple,” he said, his voice laced with pride. “I crushed some powdered nightshade into his evening broth. That usually weakens the lungs enough to pass for consumption, given a few days.”
He savored my horrified expression. “But he was too strong. Too stubborn. He survived the night. And then, in his weakened state, he chose to confront me about the well. At 3:15 AM, as a matter of fact.”
He paused, a glint in his eye. “When he wouldn’t back down, I… assisted him. A quick hand over his mouth. A struggle. A final push.”
He gestured vaguely towards the cellar hatch beneath the rug. “Down he went. A perfect tithe to the entity. A generous offering to open the silver vein.”
He smirked. “And it worked. The well has been… responsive. It’s ready. And Thomas is its final payment.”
He had poisoned Silas with nightshade, then suffocated him, and finally dumped his body down the well shaft. All to force a dark, subterranean entity to yield its silver ore. The monster had confessed.
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