Ghosts Frightening Ghosts
Shoveling a patch of damp soil out with a spade that had its handle sawed short and depositing it into a wicker basket, Rafte Pound wiped the sweat from his face and mechanically repeated his previous action.
He had been continuously digging for over half a month, and according to his calculations, digging from this abandoned church to beneath his original home would take at least another three months!
Yet he possessed patience, and a peculiar force within his heart drove him onward. Surely this was the sense of mission belonging to his family—not some Pound, but a Tudor!
Lost in wild fancies, his hands did not pause as handfuls of earth gradually filled the wicker basket. Just as he prepared to retreat the way he came to dump them, his vision suddenly turned black, followed by the lighting of lamps, transforming the cramped tunnel into an immensely vast underground palace.
I dug through? How is that possible?
After a moment of sheer bewilderment, Rafte's expression turned ecstatic. He clawed frantically with cramped hands until he touched a dark iron crest, engraved with a hand clutching a scepter.
This is the symbol of the Tudor family...
Trembling with excitement, he pinned the crest to his chest and prepared to crawl up to continue exploring the underground palace, when his vision blurred once more. He slammed hard into the soil that had reappeared out of nowhere, biting down on a hard stone and nearly knocking out his teeth.
"Ptui, ptui—"
With his eyes closed, he spat out the bitter dirt and opened them again, only to discover a human figure standing before him.
A person without facial features, whose "face" was completely smooth.
"Pfft—"
Spitting out the last mouthful of dirt from his mouth, he cast aside the