On meeting the Landlord of The Bucket of Blood, my imagination ran wild. Were vicious killers stalking the street, lurking in the very shadows that shrouded the pub? Was Mr. Underby truly what he seemed?
The first week I ran my shop in that little room, I feared for my life every night. Ominous rustlings and mutterings could be heard just outside the door of my shop as I put the finishing touches on a kilt for a customer.
What will become of me here?