Information

hastrman has a minion!

the Grave Reminder

hastrman

The

Custom Graveyard Xotl
Owner: atempause

Age: 4 years, 5 months, 3 weeks

Born: February 22nd, 2022

Adopted: 4 years, 5 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: February 22nd, 2022

Pet Spotlight Winner
January 30th, 2023

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 11
Defense: 11
Speed: 11
Health: 11
HP: 10/11
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Toys Played: 0
Job: Unemployed

Stay away from the old watermill

Mother has always told her to be careful around the river behind the village. But she didn't believe in the old tales made to scare children. It worked on her little brother, but she wasn't a child anymore. There were no evil creatures living in the river. Only fish and frogs.

Besides, the water was the cleanest it has ever been, where else to wash the laundry?

With a basket in hand, she strolled across the riverbank towards a pier that stood near an old watermill.

Her friends told her the abandoned mill has an owner again. She was curious who would be interested in such a derelict building, so far away from everyone else. She took the laundry just as an excuse, all she really wanted is to possibly meet the new owners, get something new to share with her gossiping friends. Nothing really happens in these parts, this is the most exciting thing she's got going for her right now.

Overgrown grass lined the with colorful wildflowers scattered through. She made a mental note to collect some on her way back to bring to her mother. A wildflower crown would make her so happy.

Reaching the pier, she eagerly awaited to see someone from the mill. Yet the place lay silent, just as it always has been. The giant wheel standing still in the water, shores overtaken by reeds and cattails. But someone clearly had to take care of the old house judging from the shiny new roof and windows. She remembers how boys proudly boasted how they used the mill for target practice. Every single window was broken by rocks from their sling. She was able to see mugs sitting inside on the windowsill. With a little lid on each and every one of them, tied together with a ribbon. Almost like a present, she thought. And there were so many. Has the place been taken by a potter? But why would they choose the mill of all places?

After her examination of the whole place, she turned back to her basket. Excuse for this trip or not, the laundry had to be done.

A shadow appeared briefly in the waters under. Is a curious fish interested in her white linen? She leaned over the pier to get a better look at her new visitor. Maybe she would get lucky and catch a glimpse of the fabled giant catfish that was rumored to swim in the river. That way she might have at least something to tell back home over a dinner table. She really hoped she would be one of the first to greet the new miller, oh well, a particularity large fish might be just interesting enough.

The shadow slowly crept towards her, growing in size. Curiosity got better of her as she reached out her hand to tease the fish and draw it up closer. Carefully hovering her hand just above the surface, ready to pull back and not lose a finger to a pair of strong jaws. If the rumors about the man-eating catfish were even true, that is.

What she did not expect is to get her arm snatched by something that looked almost human.

A clawed green hand shoot from the water and tightly grasped her wrist. The sudden unexpected pull quickly made her lose her balance. There was not enough time for her to react and fight back. Before she realized what is happening she was already falling off the pier, pulled down into the river's cold depths. Only a small scream escaped her lips, cut short before water filled her mouth and silenced her forever.

The area went silent just as fast as if nothing has happened. Only thing left hinting at the encounter was the basket of laundry, still sitting on the pier waiting for their wash that will never come.

It has been months since the hastrman has made his home in the old watermill. Everyone who dared to approach the river at this spot has been mercilessly dragged down into the water to meet their death at the bottom of the river. Drowned by his hands, their souls collected into mugs. The fish devour their bodies and witches collect the bones washed on the shores.

One would think locals would finally take a hint and stay away from the mill. But there is always someone curious enough to do the grave mistake and disturb his new home.

Not that he's complaining.

More careless visitors only mean more souls for his collection.