Old Silas stares up at the decrepit house looming ominously from the hill it perches on. The MacKay residence was a fixer upper for sure, your stock standard haunted house,complete with flappy shutters, dancing window shadows, and even a raven. Or is it a crow? Silas realizes he doesn’t know the difference, then quickly realises that he doesnt give a shit, it’s the same fucking bird with the same fucking warning as far as he’s concerned. Silas turns his gaze from the house to the tremendous flight of stairs in front of him.
“Stairs.” grumbles Silas. “Who built this place? Christ, every sane maniac with a haunted house at the top of the hill at least had the fucking decency to have a driveway with a creepy gate and an even creepier sonofabitch manning it. The Jackson residence did that shit and that place was sitting on top of a portal to hell.” Silas, still grumbling, hoists his pack on his shoulders, wincing as the sheer weight of the thing digs into his frail frame. If he had an assistant, you could bet your boots on a rainy day that Silas wouldn’t carry this damned thing anymore. But money was tight, and furthermore (and perhaps more importantly) nobody was in the monster hunting business. The kids were too soft, as Silas could often be heard spouting in any given pub on any given Saturday. Couldn’t be trusted with anything, cowards who would run at the first sign of trouble. So Silas was the last monster hunter in Leeds. Maybe the last monster hunter in the world. And so he climbed, grumbling the whole way up.
The sun was beginning to set when Silas arrived at the bottom of the hill. In the dim light of the sunset, Silas began to contemplate his work. Specifically, he wondered about the nature of the beast ahead. With a house like this, there are lots of possibilities. Silas was able to rule a couple out fairly quickly, he was nearly positive that there would be no werewolves in this house. Although, after that night in Yharnam (funny little town that, Silas could never find it on a map after his job was done. That whole job was suspect. He had the lingering feeling that he wasn't doing it right. He hoped the situation hadn’t gotten worse, one of those werewolves was bad enough, it would be a shame if there were more.) he wasn’t taking any chances. He was also going to preemptively rule out anything beasty. Houses don’t usually have those types of things, unless it has a basement. Anything goes if the house has a basement. More likely, Silas thought, was a ghost or a vampire. Perhaps some eldritch abomination, but ghost or vampire was more likely. Silas just hoped that the house itself wasn’t the issue. Silas shudders, thinking about the House of Leaves. That was a bad time. But, Silas was prepared for anything, hence the heavy as shit pack. Silas, still mulling it over, continued to climb the seemingly endless flight of stairs.
The sun was fully set as Silas finaly reached the top of the stairs and colapsed.