The night was dark and the house was silent. It was so silent that if a mouse had scratched in a corner, it would have been heard by all. Suddenly, a low moaning sound slowly rose and fell, then silence, then more moaning, rising like a wind warning of storms to come.
"Please, Master!" The servant made his way through the house, searching for where Sokaku Takeda had chosen to sleep, for the Master slept in a different place every night, and changed that place every hour or two. It was the only way, he had determined, that he could be safe from the attack of his enemies.
"OOOOO!" The groan was now a full throated wail, and the members of the household could be heard stirring, muttering amongst themselves at the sound of the Master's regular nightmares. At last, the servant found where Sokaku had placed his bedding--in a cupboard near a stairway.
"Master!" The servant cried, afraid to approach and knock on the cupboard door, for Sokaku slept with a dagger and an iron fan, and in the throws of a nightmare he could easily cut down his faithful servant. The servant reached into a canister and withdrew an umbrella.
Gingerly, he leaned forward and knocked on the door. The door suddenly flung open, and before the servant could even see the old samurai, he had been thrown on the floor. Sokaku held a sharp knife under the servant's chin.
"Eh? Did you think I wouldn't see you? I killed you once and I can...what?"
Another servant appeared with a lantern, and the sudden influx of light made Sokaku blink. He was disheveled, bleary-eyed, pale. The dagger had brought forth a drop of blood from the first servant's throat, and the arm of the first servant, where Sokaku had gripped him, felt like it was going to break.
"Master Takeda?" The first servant begged. Sokaku looked at the man in his grip, then he began to understand what he was really doing.
Wearily, but still surcharged with power, he reached into the cupboard and drew out his bedding. Without another glance, he left the room, searching for another place to settle down. If only he could sleep undisturbed, just for a few hours, but always...always...the souls of the people he had slain sought him out.