At first, I wondered if they were scarecrows, if I had fallen into some clever ploy, but no. These were no straw men. They were flesh and bone, and they were dead. No blood spurted from their wounds. My knives returned from out their hearts covered in some necrotic goo. I stared, wondering what had ended their lives.
No time, I thought. I could not waste another second. I had put my hand to the gate, preparing to fling myself over its wrought iron spikes, when I heard the subtle cry of the turning hinges. The lock had been broken.
Tale Told 