1.

Golgotha darted through the rain and thunder, his cloak pulled over his head.  The large multi-story inn was his destination.  The village he had just entered was one of many he had visited in his journeys, and he hoped this one would hold some useful information.  At the late hour, the most likely place to find people was the village inn, which he had now reached.  He pushed the door open with some unneeded force and rushed inside.

The calm, orange flames warmed Golgotha’s cold, wet skin.  He pulled his hood back and tried brushing the water off him, succeeding in making himself look like a fool.  Finally recovering from the effects of running through a raging thunderstorm, he looked up and noticed his surroundings.  Seven people were present in the living room of the inn, and seven sets of eyes stared the newcomer down.

“What can we do for ya?” croaked the mustachioed innkeeper, who also served as bartender to a bar with a few benches.  “We don’t get many travelers coming through here, especially at this hour.  Are you lookin’ for trouble?”

“Of course not,” stuttered Golgotha.  “But nor have I come merely seeking living accommodations.  My name is Golgotha, and I am a monk of the east.”  With this statement, most of the onlookers wearily turned away and went back to their business.  “I have traveled many miles in search of a man.  It is my God-appointed mission to find him.”

“What crime has he committed?” bellowed a large man in a soldier’s uniform who sat at the bar.  “If it’s the crime against Mother Nature of being ugly as all hell, then Wart’s your guy!”

“Hey, shut up!” replied a man sitting at the opposite end of the bar.  The soldier’s comment was indeed true; Wart (which could not possibly be his real name) owned a face only a mother could love.

“Would you two knock it off!” said the bartender, quite annoyed.  “Go on son, finish what you where saying.”

“Well, like I said, I’m looking for a man.  I do not know his name, or appearance, or anything else that would be useful in identifying him.  But this man is a murderer.  A serial killer, to be more precise.”  At this statement, attention within the room peaked a little, but not much.  “If the records of his body counts are not exaggerated, he could almost be labeled a mass murderer.  Every village he goes to he leaves a trail of blood for unknown reasons.  I have followed him, always a step behind, always too late.  Tell me, has anything strange happened in this quaint town recently?”

A beautiful woman sitting on the steps of the inn stood up and spoke.  “Nothing happens around here.  This place doesn’t need a murderer, everyone is already as lifeless as can be.”

“I can put some life into ya!” cried the hideous Wart.

“I’ve told you before Wart, I may be a lady of the night, but I still choose my customers.  Please just stop your proposals, you hideous mongrel!”  Wart looked downward with a bitter look in his large eyes.

Golgotha tried to ignore that last exchange.  “Well, it seems I have already beaten my man to this village.  I urge all to be weary of anything suspicious.”

“Oh, we’ll be sure to keep both eyes open,” said the woman while walking towards Golgotha.  “Tell me, you wouldn’t happen to be feeling lonely on the long road, would you?”  She moved close to the young man, clearly making a proposition.

“I am sorry, but I am a monk after all.  I will be just fine by myself.  And…I seriously pray that you reconsider the lifestyle you choose.  It is a dangerous one.”

A hurt look came over the young woman.  “You insult me!”

“Oh, no, of course not!” stuttered Golgotha.  “I am but a monk, and I would not harm a soul.”

2.

The woman retreated upstairs, upset with yet another fruitless night.  “Come here and sit by me, young man!” exclaimed the soldier with a raised mug of beer.  Golgotha did so.  Wart was shifting nervously at the other end of the bar, repeatedly running his hands through his hair.  “So!  You’re all upset over a murderer, aye?” asked the burley soldier.

“Yes, life is precious, and he must be brought to justice.”

“Life, humph!  Who is to decide who should die and who should live?  You?”  A glazed look came over the soldier, and he looked vaguely into space as he reminisced for several minutes.  “Many years ago, in the war that tore this land apart, I myself killed many a soul.”  The soldier’s tone suddenly became offensive, and he seemed to slip into an angered state.  “Was I wrong?  Would you say that I am a murderer, and should be punished?”

The monk thought a moment.  “I don’t mean to offend, but yes.  As I said before, life is precious, and it should not be taken, no matter what the reason.”

“Ha!  What are you going to do then?  Beat me to death with your scrawny hands as punishment?”

“Of course not!  I am but a monk, and I would not harm a soul.”

3.

The soldier seemed to calm down and fix his attention on his beer.  The bartender then turned towards Golgotha.  “Well, boy, what do you want?”  Golgotha looked at the many alcoholic beverages on the wall.

“I will just have some water, please.”  The bartender brought down a cup of water in a rather hurried motion.

“That will be six pieces.”

Golgotha looked shocked.  “You charge money for water?”

“Ya, is that a problem?”

“Water should be free to all people, especially in a fine establishment such as yours.  You do realize that what you are doing is just as good as stealing.  It is a horrible sin.”

“So what!  Are you gonna put a curse on me or something?”

Golgotha nervously paid the man.  “No, of course not.  I am but a monk, and I would not harm a soul.”

4.

Golgotha finished the water and turned around to see the rest of the small gathering who sat at the tables of the inn.  A young man with narrow eyes caught his attention with a waving of his hand.  “Psst, monk!  Come here!”  Golgotha hurriedly walked to the dark table he was sitting at.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I have information on the man you’re looking for.”

“Really?  Please sir, tell me what you know.”

“Not so fast.  Information costs money around here, friend.  Fifty pieces, and I’ll tell you all I know.”  Golgotha reluctantly gave the money over, feeling that the need for information outweighed that of material possessions.  “Alright, friend!”  The man quickly looked around, his hands shaking with excitement.  An enormous grin stretched from ear to ear as he looked into Golgotha’s eyes.  “You gullible fool, I’ll tell you all I know, and that’s jack squat!”

“What?  You said you knew something!”

“It’s your fault for bein’ so naïve.”

Golgotha stared in disbelief.  “That, sir, is lying, and it is a mighty sin.”

“What are you gonna do monk, take back your money with force?”

“No, of course not,” replied the stunned Golgotha.  “I am but a monk, and I would not harm a soul.”

5.

The thief darted up the stairs, leaving the monk behind, fifty pieces poorer. Golgotha looked back to Wart, the ugly man.  He was sweating profusely, and he started banging his fist on the table.  The strange man gave quick glances to the second floor, and the stairs where the woman had gone up earlier.

Golgotha turned his attention to the remaining two customers of the original seven.  One was an enormously fat man who, at present, was feasting on plate after plate of meat, and throwing cup after cup of wine down his throat.  The other was a small, grimacing man who sat in a dark corner.  On the table before him were stacks of coins and other forms of currency.  He was counting them over and over in an almost panicked state.  This is just fine, thought the monk, a glutton and a man who worshiped the god of money.

“What about you two?  Have you seen anything suspicious in this village lately?”

“Shut up!” roared the fat one.  “Can’t you see I’m eating?”

The small paranoid one quickly eyed the young man.  “Me gold…me gold…you stay away…all of you.  You’re here to take it, aren’t you?  That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

The monk was caught off guard at this last crazed remark.  “No, sir, I assure you.  I am but a monk, and I would not harm a soul.

6.

At that time, Wart, the homely man, quickly jumped up in a rage and rushed upstairs.  Golgotha simply remained where he stood, listening to the silence that followed.  The sound of a crash was heard from upstairs, and to Golgotha’s horror, the voice of a woman whimpering followed.  It was not hard for him to piece together what was happening.  The remaining guests simply sat where they were, not moving an inch.

“Will no one help her!?” cried the monk at last.  The soldier slowly turned around and stared at the young man.

“Don’t you see?  No one here cares about anything.  If you’re so righteous, why don’t you go up there and beat that Wart to a pulp?”

Golgotha looked down to his small hands, a truly saddened look upon his face.  “I am but a monk, and I would not harm a soul.”

The bartender looked his way.  “Say, monk.  Why did you come to this village again?”

7.

The Captain of the King’s men stared in disbelief.  “My God, the villagers reported a murder, but this…”

The inn was colored crimson red.  Flies swarmed.  Maggots had nested, and were doing their work.  The early morning sun shone through the open door and windows, cooking the flesh in heat.  The worst sensation was the smell.  It filled the air, and nearly induced vomiting for the Captain and his guards.  Seven lifeless bodies were strewn about the room.

“Where are their heads…?” inquired a stunned investigator.  One enormously fat body sat in a chair with a large cooked chicken jammed in place of where the head should have been.  His fat gut was slashed open, and the partially digested remains of the food he had eaten were covering the table and floor where he sat.    One body was thrown across the floor with several pounds of coins covering it.  The headless bodies of a man and a woman were on the stairs, holding each other.  The bartender was laid along the bar top, and two others were rested in random positions.

Drops of blood fell on one of the investigator’s face, causing him to look upward.  “Sir…” he said to the Captain, looking up at the ceiling.  Seven heads were stuck to the wooden ceiling, each with a long blade holding it in place.  More mysterious than that was a message written along the length of the ceiling.  It was somehow written in blood, and in the style of a poem:

“I did not harm their souls

For they did that themselves.

Twas seven good reasons

Why I freed them from their cells.”