At that moment, every window shattered at once. Glass sprayed like rain, and black smoke poured in through the barred frames, spilling across the floor. The smoke gathered, twisting together until it took the shape of a tall figure in a black tricorn hat. A heartbeat later, the smoke thinned, leaving a motionless man in a dark coat, eyes closed.
On his back hung a bulging sack. From its mouth spilled the sight of severed, bloodied heads.
The lodgers stared, horror mounting. The man's face was pale, carved with deathly gloom, as if he were the herald of annihilation itself. Then his eyes opened, blackness swirling in their depths.
"Boo!" the man barked suddenly. The lodgers screamed like animals.
His arm shot forward, stretching unnaturally long, and snatched the nearest lodger. With inhuman strength, he yanked the man close and tore his head clean off. A fountain of blood erupted, painting the room and spattering the white-sheet faces crimson.
The long arm dropped the fresh head into the sack.
With howls of madness, the surviving lodgers bolted up the stairs in a panicked swarm.
"Faster! Into the warded rooms!" the innkeeper shouted. "It's the only chance to survive!"
The second lodger—one of those who had helped bar the doors—never made it to the stairs. A shadowy figure caught him and tore him apart.
Upstairs, three more jammed themselves in the passage and began beating each other bloody with their fists. At last they broke through and scattered into the rooms of the second floor.
Heavy, relentless footsteps closed in after them. First on the stairway. Then across the groaning boards of the upper hall. In time, the ominous tread of death faded into silence.
The first black coat sat alone in a darkened room, wards scrawled across the walls. He clutched a naked blade in a trembling hand, eyes bulging, staring into the dark. The steel swung toward the door, then the windows. He struggled to stifle his breathing, but it came in ragged gasps, hitching and betraying him.
He fixed his gaze on the wards—those sigils the hired sorcerer had etched there in advance. They were supposed to keep out the unclean. That hope was all that kept him from madness. But then he saw something that made him wail in terror. The runes began to melt, black rivulets streaming down the walls.
Suddenly, movement flashed past the window. He froze, staring. A dark man in a tricorne hat leered back, eyes brimming with endless black. He laughed, a low and hideous sound. Then he flickered to another window, still laughing, shrill and inhuman.
The sword clattered to the floor. The wards vanished. The shutters flew open. A cold wind blasted inside.
The black coat saw himself hanging in the air, a monstrous hand crushing his throat. The tall man in the tricorne loomed over him. An instant later, his head was severed from his body.