In the filthy, dilapidated courtyard, Granta, Gram, and the rest of the family—young and old alike—lay rolling and struggling on the ground, howling in anguish.
"Money! My money!" Granta wailed, his eyes bloodshot. "My money, my money, my money! The gold coins left by my great-grandfather, the gold coins left by my grandfather, the gold coins left by my father, the gold coins I earned—my money, my money!"
Granta's body convulsed, his twisted face turning savage and hideous, like an evil ghost. His eyes were crimson, gleaming with a vicious light that no one dared meet. Granta, whose strength was so feeble that he did not even possess the power of a Human-rank warrior, somehow found the strength to drive all ten fingers deep into the bluestone bricks beneath him, clawing deep gouges into them.
His nails and fingertips were ground into a bloody pulp against the bluestone, yet Granta felt no pain at all. He merely convulsed and wailed in torment as great, fat tears of blood slid ceaselessly down his face.
Granta's other relatives fared no better. His few brothers also convulsed in agony, staring fixedly at the empty, open entrance to the tunnel as they let out desperate, piercing wails like lone wolves mourning their mates.
"My money! My money!" Granta's brothers and sisters screamed hoarsely. "Granta, give us back our money! Give us back our money!"
Two hideous middle-aged women pounced on Granta, their sharp claws raking fiercely across his face and shredding his already far-from-handsome old visage. Blood immediately welled out. Granta, already drowning in desperate misery, leapt up in fury, clenched his fists, and struck his two sisters wildly about the head and face.
"It's your fault! It's your fault!" Granta howled. "You must have stolen my money! It must have been you!"
Gram