HALLOWED GROUND from THE HAUNTING by BAD MANOR

ON A LONELY HILL, FAR OUT OF TOWN, AWAY FROM VIBRANCE AND CLOAKED IN SHADE. THIS IS THE PLACE. THIS IS PERFECT. I LAID EYES ON IT AND WORKERS HERE BY THE NEXT DAWN, ROOMS FILLED WITH GUESTS IN A YEAR. IT SITS PALATIAL LOOKING DOWN. THE GALAS THE GLORY OH THE TALES THEY SHALL TELL. THE LAUGHTER AND REVELRY ECHOES THE HALLS. I SIT IN MY ROOM, LANTERNS EXTINGUISHED, COUNTING. 1.2. THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND. THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND AND NINETY FOUR TO BE EXACT. THAT’S THE COUNT OF THE WHISPERS. THIS MANOR TALKS TO ME. IT SPEAKS IN RIDDLES, IN CRUEL JEST. I CAN’T DO IT. I CAN’T COMPLETE THE RITUAL. BUT THE MOCKERY, IT IS UNENDING. THE WALLS SWELL AND BELCH WITH BILE. THE GROUND A GAPING MAW. AND I SIT. I SIT IN MY ROOM.

IT’S BEEN IN OUR BLOOD. THIS MANSE. THESE GROUNDS. NEW GUESTS COME AND THEY GO, BUT SOME NEVER LEAVE. THEY SERVE THE PURPOSE. THEY ARE THE LAMB OF THE ALTAR, DEO NOSTRO. OH ANCIENT ONE, SIRE, FOREFATHER. WE ARE BUT YOUR HUMBLE SERVANTS. WE BRING YOU THESE VESSELS AND KNEEL BEFORE YOUR SPLENDOR. WE SHALL CONSECRATE THIS GROUND TO YOU ONCE AGAIN, OUR KING. THE BLOOD IS LIFE, AND WE SHALL BE GRANTED LIFE IMMORTAL. EACH NEW HOMAGE BECOMES A PORTRAIT, EACH NEW PORTRAIT BECOMES OUR LEGEND. WE SHALL RECORD THEIR NAMES. WE SHALL REMEMBER THEM ALL. THEIR SACRIFICE WILL NOT BE IN VAIN. WE NOW CHANT TOGETHER:

PATER SANCTE, QUI ES IN INFERNO, BENEDIC NOS IN VIRTUTE TUA. SANGUINEM HOSPITUM TIBI OFFERIMUS, UT FAMILIAM NOSTRAM IN PERPETUUM TUEARIS.

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• United States