Den Gens Maudits:Caleb's CurseThe year was 1826. For a certain young man named Caleb Lefevre, it was the happiest year of his life. He was happily married, with a son and another child on the way. Tomorrow, would be the day of his twenty sixth birthday. He let out a content sigh, he was full of hope for what the future might bring him. A boquet of roses for his wife, Lily rested in his hands.
You see, the heir to the Lefevre trading company was nothing at all like his cold and calculating father. He was warm hearted, sympathetic, and maybe just a bit thin skinned. He was the type of person who would, should they see you alone on the streets one night, drunk, he would escort you home to make sure nothing happened, and probably apologize when you yakked on his shoes. Unfortunately, bad things have a horrible habit of happening to even the most hopeful, kind hearted people.
Caleb was strolling down the cobblestone road, humming a cheerful tune. The young man was relaxed, despite the fact that he was alone a
A Dark and Foggy Night
Twas a dark foggy night, 'bout a century ago
A tall, dark man walked down the street
Thin as a rail, with a smile on his face
But he didn't know, no he didn't know
By the end of that night, he wouldn't have a heartbeat
No, he didn't know, he didn't know.
By the end of that niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, he wouldn't have a heartbeat
A ginger man appeared at the other end, big ol gun sitting in his hand
The thin one saw him but he didn't run, no he didn't run
He just stood there paralyyyyyzed
But the gun went BANG and the man went thud
By the end of that night...he didn't have a heart beat
But somehow he awoke, before the morning light
He couldn't move, no he couldn't move
He could only lay there paralyyyyyyzed
So he looked down, and around and aorund
And shrieked at what he saw
His blood was black!
His eyes were pink!
His skin was white as a ghoooooooost's
He should have run, he should have run
But he could only lay there paralyyyyyzed
The voices carried down the hall
Mr. New YearThe last thing anyone expects to see as they travel through a graveyard is some brightly colored man strolling amongst the graves, a picnic basket under their arm. But, if you go to just the right one on New Years Day, that's exactly what you'll see. A man in a pink and blue suit, wearing a top hat that looks like its made of rainbows, with a basket of random junk. Well not random junk. It was the same junk every year. One scalpel, one bouquet of flowers, one coin, and one book of matches. Yes, each of these seemingly mundane items had value, well to the man they did. Great value. Each item stood for a person, a person he had lost in his two hundred and four years of existence.
The first stop on the colorful man, who from now on I will call Mr New Year, 's journey was to a small graveyard, a very peaceful place tucked away in rural France. He stepped over the gate carefully, not making a sound. He walked very carefully here as if a single mis