"Once upon a time, there was a little boy," began the man holding me captive. "You wouldn't describe him as a particularly special boy. He wasn't tall, or handsome. He wasn't charismatic, or amusing. In fact, he seemed to be exceedingly mundane. Due to this boy's apparent shortcomings, he was bullied mercilessly and relentlessly by other children. But, what the other boys did not understand about their victim was, that they weren't seen as the boy's enemies, but as tools of learning.  Priceless lessons were learned from these dementors. Mankind, has only two masters in this world, with their names being pain and fear. The boy found that, he had quite a talent for eliciting these feelings in others. So, under principle of playing to his strengths, he decided to make their cultivations his life's work."

      No one ever knows they're about to die. Sure, we all die at some point during our lifetime, but the lingering question remains. When?

      In 1893, there was not a ton to be excited about in Chicago. Truthfully, the only thing I was excited about was the announcement of a fair being held to commemorate Christopher Columbus's 400 year anniversary of  having arrived in America. I couldn't help but think that Columbus didn't actually arrive in the good 'ol USA, and he didn't even do it first. But nonetheless, the World's Columbian Exposition was announced, with the main attraction being the Chicago World's Fair. I lived about a mile or two outside of town, and made the elective decision to walk in over the weekend for the first few days of the fair to check out what  it  had to offer. After all, what did I have to lose?

          Upon arriving at the city, I began to make of list of all the possible things I could do during my brief visit. The fair was held on a wide ground, about 600 acres, that would be filled to the brim with tons of attractions. Some of these included Harry Houdini, whom I was dying to go watch, accurate recreations of Columbus' three ships, and multiple musicians from around the world. However, all of the sightseeing would have to wait until I could find a place to stay during my time here. I walked up and down the streets, gathering all of my possible options until I found one hotel that suited my parameters: The Chicago World's Fair Hotel. It was in my price range and relatively close to the section of town I would be wandering around. The building was massively large, and I even heard a few people on the step of the hotel giving it the nickname of "The Castle". Upon walking into the grand structure, I walked past various shops and a pharmacy that I believe were also owned by the owner, whom I briefly met as I made my way to the front desk. He seemed rather inquisitive about where I was traveling from and how long my stay would last. Nonetheless, he personally guided me to my room and gave me the key for the door. I graciously thanked him for his personal help and stepped into the room. I set my luggage on the floor and made my way to the queen-sized bed, whereupon I laid down for a short nap.

         The most ear-wrenching noise jolted me out of my slumber. My first theory was that it was the sound of nails on a chalkboard from a neighboring room; however, my still half-asleep state slowed my thought process, making it difficult to realize that the sound was coming inside my room. The very room, I ensured, was fully locked.

          I looked frantically for something to protect myself with. A pipe, a bat, even a broomstick would suffice. None of these were found. My next logical thought was to escape the room. Sprinting to the door with all my might, I found the door knob was missing, locking myself into my own room, with someone, or something, that was yet to be seen. I smashed myself into the door, hoping that it would budge, or at the very least break down. A few creaks from the door were all I could get. Thinking fast, I tried something I had heard the police do when kicking down doors: kick about two inches to the left of the lock. I lined up where I hoped my foot would strike, and kicked as hard as I possibly could, only to be let down by the result I received. The door didn't move. I began to smell a stingy scent that I deemed to be my sweat, but looking around the room, I noticed a green mist fill ever inch of the room, starting at the floor and rising to the ceiling. My senses started to slow and I began to feel faint, until I didn't feel anything, and slipped into unconsciousness.

       Upon waking, I found myself strapped down inside what appeared to be a coffin. My ears were ringing at such a high pitch that I could barely think. I attempted to pull my hands from the clasps, but they didn't give way. Scream, I thought. "Help!", I yelled as loud and as drawn out as my voice would allow. Part of me knew it wouldn't work, but in times of despair, I would be willing to try anything. Thus, the coffin door flew open, and I came face to face with a man I had talked to earlier in the day. He seemed so harmless when I first met him, practically afraid of his own shadow. It was the owner of the hotel I had spoken to this morning. His name was H.H. Holmes.