He was tall and gray.  He moved slowly as if to not disturb the air.  He was seen wandering roads between towns.  On those days, after the plague, any man could find work.  Yet he traveled as if he could find no place to live or labor.  It was the life of a seeker that took him from one village to another.  

He found places that had been abandoned.  He would stay for a while in any cottage, watchtower or empty building, especially those where the people had died in years gone by.  It was said that he was hunting ghosts.

Late in the summer he passed through our town.  He was looking for the Monk’s House nearby.  The building had been a small annex to the larger monastery a day’s journey to the north.

During the plague all of the Monks in the house had died.  Some say they had been murdered.  Others speculate that they had gone mad and committed suicide.  Most of our villagers believe the men had died of the plague like so many others.  No one moved back to the place and folk were frightened of it.  They said when one passed by it was best to do so quickly as just seeing the house was enough to raise the goose flesh on your arms.

On the day that the tall gray man came to our village, he entered the bakery, bought two loaves of bread and asked directions to the monk’s house.  Some tried to warn him away and told him about the white haired boy.  He politely thanked them for the directions then walked into the forest along the path by the creek.  No one followed him.  Three days had passed when I was suddenly overcome with curiosity.  I wanted to learn what had happened to the tall gray man.  It may have been some spell he placed on me as we passed each other in the village. Whatever drove me to follow him into the forest, it was an obsession I could not resist.  

I carried my staff, a small eating knife, a cup for water and a bag with a piece of dried meat and some bread.  The monk’s house was only two miles away but the walking seemed to take much of the day.  When I arrived, I was rather amazed that fear did not permeate the place.  The slate roof was intact as was much of the stonework of the croft.  The shutters and door were in obvious disrepair allowing the wind and small forest creatures’ easy access to the inside of the building.  I looked down at the gate which lay at my feet overgrown by wild grasses.

When I looked up the tall gray man was standing in the doorway of the house.  He beckoned me then turned to step inside.  I walked over the broken gate and entered the door.  In the darkness I could hear the rustle and scampering of small animals, startled by my presence.

When I could see again in the faint light I could distinguish a table in the center of the room.  There were two chairs and two loaves of bread on the table.  The tall man motioned for me to sit.  We faced each other across the rough wood boards. 

He smiled graciously and said, “Thank you for coming to this place to see me. You have given me the opportunity to tell my story.  You must listen well.  When I finish I will ask something of you.”

I agreed to listen.  He waited only a moment to assure himself that he had my attention.  Then he told me the following tale:

Many years ago I was the King’s Executioner.  It was my duty to chop off the head of any wicked lord or nobleman who through treason had insulted the King or injured the kingdom.  I liked my job.  I was highly respected by all the people of the Court.

However, one day I experienced a flash of enlightenment.  It occurred to me that on the night before execution each prisoner was allowed to confess to the priest and receive absolution for his or her sins.  This meant that in executing the punishment of the King, I was but ushering an evil doer into the Kingdom of Heaven.  This seemed intolerable to me.  

After considerable thought I devised a plan.  Following the visit by the priest, I would enter the cell of the condemned and contrive a means to trick the malefactor into committing a new mortal sin; one not expunged by the last rights of the Church.  

Now I was once again content.  The King’s justice would send evil to Hell where it belonged.

It was not a year later that I learned from the King himself that one of the condemned gentlemen had truly been innocent.  He was not treasonous.  He had done no injury to King or Kingdom yet his head had been taken and I had assured that his soul would not see the grace of Heaven.  

I went to the King and resigned my commission, asking my liege’s permission to become a recluse.  He granted my boon and for years I lived in a cave and subsisted on the scraps thrown to me by travelers.  

At last I understood what I must do to achieve salvation.  Since then I have wandered the trails and highroads of England seeking out the earthbound souls we call ghosts.  I have learned how to free them so that they may pass on to whatever reward the will of God has for them.  

The task is simple.  I bring bread into the house where earthbound spirits dwell.  They are attracted by the substance and essence of the food.  When they come to the earthly table I draw my dagger and thrust it into them.  Then they pass and inhabit the earth no more.

The man stopped speaking and looked into my eyes.  I remembered he had something to ask me.  I waited silently.

“I will ask this of you but one time.”  He spoke slowly and clearly.  “Do me this favor, I beg of you.  If you do I will be eternally grateful.  If you do not do it you may leave this house and return to your village unmolested.  Please tale your knife and make a cut on your own hand then allow a drop of your blood to fall into my palm.”  He said no more.

For many moments we watched each others eyes.  At last I took out my small knife and made an incision in the fleshy part of my hand.  He held out his palm and I squeezed a large drop of blood into his open hand. 

He clutched it like it was a treasure then stood, turned and walked to the brightness of the door.  

I glanced down at the table, saw the two loaves of bread he had bought only days before from our village bakery.  I said, “Don’t you want to take this?”  However, when I touched it the bread crumbled into dust.

I looked up to see only a flash of light at the door.  When I went out there was no sign of the tall gray man.  Since that day I have heard of no one who has seen him on any road in England.