Lightning forked over the old Bittarly barn.

My father had been a young man the day that the governer had exiled Lord Bittarly. Respect had filled his voice when he told me of the young lord that had laughed at his misfortune and waved gaily as he had been taken away.

I remembered the man that returned twenty years later bearing the name Bittarly less fondly. Even as a child I had been struck by his foul-breathed mutters, and narrow, suspicious eyes.

Despite having no farmstock, Bittarly had commisioned a barn to be built immediately, remaining adamant even as it consumed the boody flesh of our men in the form of fingers, toes and in one case, an eye. After the barn had been raised no one came to check on its upkeep, which had suited Bittarly just fine.

The accompanying grunt of thunder shattered the brittle wood of the walls and the whole thing crumbled inward.

Fear creeped over my skin. Suddenly I was afraid that whatever had been caged by Bittarly barn, was now free.

A keening cry filled the air.