Short Story: 'Miser Mike'

Once upon a time, in an age when nothing was as it seemed, and magic oozed from the earth, there lived a man in a big house. He was known as “Miser Mike,” the owner of 8 Inns in the darkest West Country. On a stormy night, when even the elements seemed to be angry with him, there was a knock upon his door; it sounded like nails dragging on a blackboard. Like the screams of a banshee on the grand oak door of the mansion. It roused the house, sending a chill down Mike’s spine. It seemed as if whatever was out there needed some sort of help. Mike sat up from his red, velvet chair. An ominous wind blew through the window, making the willow outside shudder. He started to approach the door with great caution, Mystified by what could behold outside his home. Suddenly, he drew back, and yelled out for his servant. In a flash, a young man darted towards him. “Can’t you hear there’s someone at the door? Open it!” Mike declared testily; hiding the fact he was petrified. The poor boy rushed to the door, his skin pale and trembling. As he drew back the many bolts and turned the many locks, he felt a force pushing the door open from beyond. The great doors groaned open, as if exhausted.
Before him was a great raven, jet black, red claws and eyes the colour of flames. It flew in knocking the servant over, and perched on the Master’s table. Dauntingly, Mike glared at his servant still frozen in astonishment at the door. He didn’t know which one to yell at first, the raven or the servant. As he launched at the boy, the raven rose above him; and with his great wings, swept the lantern on to the oak floor.
Within seconds, the flame which was concealed in the glass has spread on the floor of the Great Hall. Mike and his servant however, did not notice the unfurling disaster. The servant screamed in horror and pointed his skinny finger at the blaze. Mike, flabbergasted at what he had thought the poor boy has caused, enclosed the servant’s neck in his grip, then proceeded to squeeze with all his might. The young man squirmed and gagged. A cackle echoed though the hall; the raven swooped into view of the servant as he gave an agonizing peck at the veins of his hand; the raven had finished his stay at the inn.
Mike released his excruciating grip. The boy dropped to the ground, lifeless. The cold hearted Master ran for his life out of his beloved inn, and as he took his last glance at one of his

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