I followed the instructions provided by the emphatic Mister Dobbs, entering the estate grounds by way of the side gate at around half past five, proceeding to curtilage where I found a small, unassuming shed that would have easily been mistaken for that of a gardener's closet or something to similar effect. I used the key given to me to unlock the door and proceeded inside, curious to what I might find within.

In the end, however, what awaited me was nothing so astonishing as to describe in great detail, and little more than an old bread basket sitting atop a counter, hosting but one single parcel, addressed and ready to be delivered.

Of course, this did not preclude me from inspecting it, as well as the little building, in the hopes that I might unravel some details about the near-unscrupulous business to which I was employed.

Certainly, it had not seen use beyond this endeavor, as evidenced by the layer of dust that blanketed everything but the basket and parcel. In fact, it was quite a dismal sort of place, and I confess that I was rather disappointed by the mundanity of it all.

I took the package, depositing into a small duffel that I had brought specifically for the occasion, and left, locking the door behind me as instructed. I was about to leave and make my delivery when I stopped, however, my eyes drawn to the mansion itself.

It, like the shack, looked all but abandoned, leastways on the outside. A dark structure of little more than two stories, the black slats of the roof and the gray-purple siding gave it a rather macabre sense, not at all helped by the gargoyles that hung over the corners like perched predators in the act of pouncing on unsuspecting prey. Such things were fairly common, especially in manors as old as this one clearly was, but it still sat ill with me.

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As for the grounds, it was evident that must be a groundskeeper given how well maintained the lawn and shrubbery were. The chiseled stone path was kept clear of debris, and the flowers lining the small garden area were ell-tended. There was even a small swing hanging off the limb of a knotted old tree in one of the yard's corners.

Yet aside from these indications of activity, the whole of the abode was entirely silent. Nothing moved here, not even any local fauna, and the only thing that remotely bespoke some sense of life was that of a tiny, flickering candlelight coming from a room on the second floor.

At length, I realized that I was idling in the yard of someone and I had never met, and awkwardly began to make my way back towards the exit. As I progressed, however, I got the tell-tale feeling one gets when they know they're being watched, though a cursory look around revealed neither eyes nor faces.

At the same time, however, I quickened my pace.

It was altogether strange to me that I should feel so paranoid. As I was employed for this very task by the self-same owner of the estate, I had every right to be there. Surely she, or more likely one of her servants, would vouch for me if the need arose or on the off-chance a neighbor spotted a strange woman entering the side gate.

Nevertheless, I still felt like an intruder, and by the time I shut the postern behind me, I was out of breath and stopped to lean against the wall. It was still slightly damp from the early morning showers that were common to the realm, but I hardly minded. Instead, I turned my head slightly, looking back at the mansion.

My blood ran cold.

There, at the far window of the east wing of the third floor, stood a man, gazing unmoving out across the yard and fixed on me.