The rider of the Black Horse Inn

Never believe what you see or hear

Arrival at the Black Horse Inn
It was 1826 and the wind was howling through the bare trees. I always liked October, I loved the smell of wet land and rotting leaves and all the changing colours but this time was different. It was nearly dark and bitter cold already and the rain and hail slammed my face so hard it hurt. It shouldn’t be long before Autumn was over and Winter would come now. I entered the inn and the door slammed shut behind me as the wind grabbed it and blew leaves inside. There were only a few guests in the room lit with a few oil lamps and candles and two candles were blown out instantly by the gust of wind.

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