You can almost hear the gurgling fountain from all those years ago, but this time you stalk through a silent gloom, gliding toward the elderly gentleman like an angel of death. He doesn't raise his head as you approach, but a twitching in his gnarled right hand betrays him. He knows you're here.
"Have you come to take me, then?" the old man asks suddenly. His ragged voice sounds tired and world-weary, like he's seen one too many winters. "I've been coming here for almost a year since you took Samantha, waiting for you to come back and take me too." He tilts his head back and pulls a cloth cap from his balding head, clutching it to his chest. "Have mercy on me, specter. Take me to my wife."
You're caught off-guard. Far from giving you the nostalgic hunt you craved, this mortal is greeting you as though he knows your business quite well. You once heard it said that those with one foot in the grave could sometimes sense un-death, your lack of a beating heart and the reek of your damnation. But such tales are often impossible to verify. In theory, anyway.
"Will you say nothing?" the old man says, peering up at you. "I'm ready—I've made my peace. Just make it quick."