Icy wind whipped across the Irish fields, carrying with it the damp scent of the earth and a distant echo of wailing. Patrick O'Malley , a man weathered by the sun and the years , clutched his trilby hat as he trudged up the stony hillside. The air had turned thick, foreshadowing the approaching storm on the purple horizon .
Despite the harsh weather, a tight smile spread across Patrick's face. His heart pounded, driven by a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Ten years ... ten long years had passed since that fateful encounter , and finally , he was back . Back to the place where his life had taken an unexpected turn, to the old family home he had inherited and abandoned out of fear and superstition .
Now, with renewed courage and a pressing need, Patrick was ready to confront the ghosts of the past—or at least, a very particular one. He 'd heard stories, legends whispered around the fireside, old wives' tales about tiny, elusive creatures, jealous guardians of hidden treasures. He'd always considered them mere fantasies , the superstitions of ignorant peasants. Until he saw it with his own eyes.
The house loomed before him , imposing and grim against the overcast sky. A gray stone mansion with boarded-up windows and an air of neglect that permeated his bones. Even in broad daylight , the place radiated an eerie atmosphere , a feeling that something dark and ancient lurked within.
Patrick swallowed and stumbled toward the front door. The wood creaked beneath his hand as he pushed it, revealing a dark, dusty hallway. The smell of dampness and confinement hit him , mixed with an earthy, metallic aroma that felt strangely familiar .
Cautiously, he entered the house, knocking on the door with a gnarled cane he carried. The echo resonated hollowly in the deathly silence, yielding no response. Patrick sighed and moved deeper , wandering through the empty, desolate rooms . Furniture covered in white sheets , cobwebs hanging from the beams, dust accumulated from years of neglect. The house seemed to sleep under a spell, waiting to be awakened from its slumber.
Following an inexplicable impulse, Patrick headed for the basement . The trapdoor in the kitchen floor creaked open , revealing a dark staircase descending into the bowels of the house. A cold, damp air emanated from the opening, carrying with it a faint, almost inaudible whisper, like a distant wail.
Flashlight in hand, Patrick descended the stone steps, delving into the darkness below . The basement was a labyrinth of vaulted passages and rooms, with walls covered in moss and damp. The metallic smell grew stronger , becoming more pungent and familiar. It was the scent of gold.
And there , in the center of a larger room , he saw it. An ancient iron cauldron, brimming with shining gold coins, glowing with a light of its own in the darkness. Patrick's heart leaped . The legend was true. The treasure existed . And it was there , within reach.
He approached the cauldron, fascinated and fearful at the same time. He reached out with a trembling hand and took a coin, feeling its cold, solid weight , observing its blinding shine. It was pure gold, without a doubt. Ancient gold, charged with mystery and power.
But he wasn't alone. A slight movement in the shadows, a barely audible whisper, alerted him. He turned sharply , shining his flashlight into the darkness, and saw it.
Small , grotesque, with greenish, wrinkled skin, eyes glowing like embers, and a pointed, reddish beard. Dressed in ancient, threadbare clothes , with silver buckles gleaming in the gloom. He was Greed. The creature of legend. The guardian of the treasure.
Greed glared at him with suppressed fury, his teeth clenched and his fists balled . His eyes shone with an ancient rage, an unquenchable thirst for revenge. A guttural growl escaped his throat, a sound that chilled the blood and foretold the storm.
Patrick instinctively stepped back , his heart pounding . But greed, the lure of gold, was too powerful to resist. In a fit of blind covetousness, he threw an empty sack into the cauldron and began filling it with gold coins, ignoring Greed's glare, deaf to the menacing growls echoing in the basement .
When the sack was overflowing with gold, Patrick turned to flee, completely forgetting the creature in his greed. But Greed stood in his way, blocking the exit, a sadistic and cruel smile spreading across his grotesque face.
"The gold is mine , human," Greed hissed , his voice raspy and poisonous, "And you ... will pay for your audacity ."
Patrick tried to flee, but Greed lunged at him with surprising agility, leaping and biting, clawing and slashing, fury unleashed in a tiny but relentless body. Patrick screamed in pain and terror, struggling against the creature, trying to wriggle out of its razor-sharp grasp, but Greed was too strong, too fast , too … greedy.
Finally, in a stroke of desperate luck, Patrick managed to lock Greed in an old wooden chest, locking it with a rusty padlock. Greed howled and banged from inside, but Patrick didn't stop. He grabbed the sack of gold and fled the basement , abandoning the cursed house, leaving the imprisoned creature behind , believing he had escaped its vengeance.
He sealed the basement trapdoor with nails and planks, boarded up the windows of the old house , and left Ireland , fleeing the storm unleashed by his own greed. Ten years ... ten years had passed since that day . And now, Patrick O'Malley had returned , unaware that the seed of revenge, sown in the darkness of the basement , was about to sprout, unleashing a nightmare of gold and blood in the old family house .
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