The Night Watchman of the Underworld

It was pouring the day Master died.

Nearly everyone in the county came out. They silently joined the procession, holding bright red umbrellas that seemed to drape ten miles of wedding finery across the rainy night.

Fat raindrops beat against the scarlet umbrellas, as if tinged with the smell of blood.

I couldn't understand it. As far as I knew, Master was just an ordinary old watchman at the psychiatric hospital. What made him worthy of so many people carrying umbrellas to his funeral, with the procession stretching for a full ten miles?

I was Master's only grandson. Though not by blood, I had no other skills, so I took over his job and became the psychiatric hospital's new night watchman.

And then...