The frost bites. It bites deep. The wood is black. The air is still. You stand at the gate. The iron is cold. It cuts your hand. You do not care. You hold the lantern. The glass is thin. The flame dances. It is small. It is weak. But it is yours.

The village sleeps. Stone walls. Slate roofs. Smoke hangs low. It clings to the ground. It smells of peat. It smells of rot. You are the Watchman. This is your duty. This is your life. The town expects silence. The town expects fear. You give them both.

You walk the lane. Your boots crunch. The snow is soft. It swallows sound. The moon is high. It is pale. It watches. It sees all. It judges none. You feel its gaze. It is heavy. It is cold. You keep walking. Your step is steady. Your breath is short. Puff. Puff. White clouds in the dark.

The house ahead is dark. No light. No sound. The windows are blind. The door is shut. You know this place. You have watched it for years. You have seen the men inside. You have seen the smoke. You have seen the blood. It drips down the gutter. It freezes red. It looks like berries. It looks like life. But it is death.

You raise the lantern. The light spills out. It hits the stone. It hits the moss. The moss is thick. It is green. It grows in the cracks. It grows in the dark. It does not care about the light. It does not care about the cold. It just grows. You watch it. You are still. You are stone.

A shadow moves. Inside. Behind the glass. It is large. It is black. It turns. It looks at you. You know who it is. You have seen him before. He is tall. He is strong. He is cruel. He is the owner. He is the master. He rules here. He rules all.

You do not knock. You do not call. You stand. You wait. The lantern flickers. The oil is low. The flame shrinks. It is dying. You know it is dying. You do not blow on it. You do not shake it. You let it die.

The door opens. A creak. A groan. Wood on wood. The man steps out. He is big. He is broad. His coat is black. His face is hidden. You see only his eyes. They are dark. They are hard. They are like stones. They are like ice.

He stops. He looks at you. He looks at the lantern. He looks at the ground. He sees the blood. He sees the red. He does not speak. He does not move. He is still. He is calm. He is waiting.

You feel the weight. It is in your chest. It is in your gut. It is in your bones. You are afraid. You are not afraid. You are certain. You are not certain. You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye. You are the hand.

He takes a step. He takes another. He approaches. The ground is hard. The snow is deep. He does not slip. He does not stumble. He is steady. He is strong. He is like the earth. He is like the stone.

You look at him. You look at his hands. They are bare. They are red. They are stained. You see the dirt. You see the grime. You see the life. You see the death. You know what he has done. You know what he did. You know what he will do.

He stops. He is close. He is near. The lantern is low. The flame is small. It is a spark. It is a seed. It is a heart.

You see his face. It is not a face. It is a mask. It is a wall. It is a shield. You do not know his name. You do not know his story. You do not know his pain. You do not know his joy. You only know his act. You only know his sin.

You raise your hand. You hold the lantern. You hold it up. You hold it high. The light hits his face. The light hits his eyes. The light burns. The light reveals.

He does not blink. He does not flinch. He looks at the light. He looks at you. He smiles. It is not a smile. It is a grimace. It is a sneer. It is a threat.

You lower your hand. You lower the lantern. The light fades. The dark returns. The cold returns. The silence returns.

You turn. You walk away. Your boots crunch. The snow is soft. The moon is high. The village sleeps. The smoke hangs low. The air is still.

You do not look back. You do not run. You walk. You are steady. You are calm. You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

But the light is out. The flame is gone. The oil is dry. The glass is cold. You hold the lantern. It is heavy. It is empty. It is dead.

You walk to the edge. The bridge is there. The river is below. It is black. It is deep. It is moving. It is alive. It is cold.

You stop. You look down. The water flows. It flows fast. It flows hard. It does not care. It does not stop. It does not wait. It just flows.

You feel the pull. It is strong. It is deep. It is dark. It is cold. It is quiet. It is peaceful.

You think of the house. You think of the man. You think of the blood. You think of the smoke. You think of the stone. You think of the moss.

You think of the light. You think of the flame. You think of the seed. You think of the heart.

You do not jump. You do not fall. You stand. You are still. You are stone.

The moon is high. The air is cold. The village sleeps. The smoke hangs low. The river flows. The water is black. The water is deep. The water is alive.

You are alive. You are here. You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

But the light is out. The flame is gone. The oil is dry. The glass is cold. You hold the lantern. It is heavy. It is empty. It is dead.

You walk back. You walk home. Your boots crunch. The snow is soft. The moon is high. The village sleeps. The smoke hangs low. The air is still.

You enter your house. The door is shut. The windows are blind. The walls are stone. The floor is wood. It is cold. It is hard. It is dry.

You sit. You sit on the chair. The chair is old. The chair is broken. It creaks. It groans. It hurts.

You close your eyes. You breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The air is cold. The air is dry. The air is dead.

You feel the weight. It is in your chest. It is in your gut. It is in your bones. You are afraid. You are not afraid. You are certain. You are not certain. You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

But the light is out. The flame is gone. The oil is dry. The glass is cold. You hold the lantern. It is heavy. It is empty. It is dead.

The morning comes. The sun is low. The sun is pale. The sun is cold. It hits the snow. It hits the stone. It hits the water. It hits the air. It hits you.

You open the door. You step out. The snow is white. The snow is clean. The snow is pure. The snow is dead.

The village wakes. The smoke rises. The bells ring. The people move. The people talk. The people fear. The people hate. The people love.

You stand. You watch. You are still. You are stone. You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

The man is gone. The house is empty. The door is open. The windows are broken. The blood is dry. The smoke is gone. The moss is green. The stone is black.

You look at the house. You look at the gate. You look at the path. You look at the road.

You take a step. You take another. You walk. You are steady. You are calm. You are the Watchman.

But the light is out. The flame is gone. The oil is dry. The glass is cold. You hold the lantern. It is heavy. It is empty. It is dead.

You walk to the square. The crowd is there. They are waiting. They are shouting. They are screaming. They are angry. They are sad. They are scared.

They look at you. They point at you. They spit at you. They throw stones. The stones hit you. The stones hurt. The stones bleed.

You do not stop. You do not run. You stand. You are still. You are stone. You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

They see the lantern. They see the empty glass. They see the dry oil. They see the cold flame.

They laugh. They jeer. They curse. They hate.

You feel the pain. It is in your skin. It is in your flesh. It is in your soul. You do not cry. You do not beg. You do not plead. You are still. You are stone.

The leader steps forward. He is big. He is strong. He is angry. He is afraid. He holds a stick. He holds a rope. He holds a knife.

He hits you. He hits your head. He hits your face. He hits your body. You fall. You hit the ground. The ground is hard. The ground is cold. The ground is dead.

You lie there. You look up. The sky is blue. The sky is clear. The sky is empty. The sun is bright. The sun is hot. The sun is alive.

You feel the end. It is coming. It is near. It is here. It is now. It is you.

You close your eyes. You breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The air is cold. The air is dry. The air is dead.

But the light is out. The flame is gone. The oil is dry. The glass is cold. You hold the lantern. It is heavy. It is empty. It is dead.

And yet.

You feel it. It is small. It is weak. It is hidden. It is inside. It is in your chest. It is in your gut. It is in your bones.

It is the moss. It is the green. It is the crack. It is the dark. It is the life.

It is the light. It is the flame. It is the seed. It is the heart.

You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

But you are also the man. You are also the stone. You are also the water. You are also the snow.

You are the village. You are the house. You are the gate. You are the road.

You are the threshold. You are the door. You are the step. You are the fall.

You are the light. You are the dark. You are the cold. You are the warm.

You are the end. You are the start. You are the beginning. You are the middle.

You are the story. You are the tale. You are the song. You are the silence.

You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

And the light is out. And the flame is gone. And the oil is dry. And the glass is cold.

But the moss is green. And the stone is black. And the water is deep. And the air is still.

And you are here. And you are now. And you are real. And you are true.

You are the distant threshold. You are the crossing over. You are the letting go. You are the holding on.

You are the Watchman. You are the law. You are the eye.

And the village sleeps. And the smoke hangs low. And the moon is high. And the air is cold.

And the light is out. And the flame is gone. And the oil is dry. And the glass is cold.

But the moss is green. And the stone is black. And the water is deep. And the air is still.

And you are here. And you are now. And you are real. And you are true.