The wailing of a child pierced the fog clouding the streets.
Corin slowed and looked around. The fog had thickened, pressing in until it seemed to harden at the edges of the road. It swallowed the street whole.
He peered into the haze. Everything had disappeared. No people. No rats. Not even insects. The city had gone utterly still. Only the crying remained, thin and distant, echoing through the fog.
Corin ignored the wailing and continued walking forward.
Minutes passed before he stopped. His gaze fixed on the window beside him. The fog only allowed him a few meters of sight, yet it still caught his attention.
The same window.
His gaze drifted to the door next to it. Then down at the street.
His head tilted, "The same gutter."
Everything was the same.
Corin found himself back on the exact same place he had first heard the wailing child.
It still ringed in his ears, thin and distant, echoing through the fog. He pressed on, refusing to acknowledge the sound. After a few more minutes, he stopped again and looked up.
The same window.
"The same again."
He pinched his arm, hard "Not a dream."
He turned around scanning his surroundings, the same buildings, the same sidewalk, everything was the same.
The wailing of a child still lingered through the smoke.
Corin turned the other way and started walking again. Everything was the same as before, every house, every gutter, every stone.
After a few minutes he found himself standing before the same window.
He stepped closer and tried to peer inside. The fog clung to the glass, smothering his vision. He could barely make out his own reflection.
Corin scanned the street again before pulling the pickaxe from his hip.
Bang!
With one fell swing he shattered the glass.
Smoke poured from the house as if a dam had burst. Corin took a step back, letting it spill out onto the street. As the fog escaped, the child's wailing swelled, becoming louder.
He approached the broken window, peering inside. Fog drifted through the interior, blanketing the furniture in a pale haze. There was no movement. No sign of life.
Carefully, he climbed through the opening, boots crunching against broken glass. Inside, he scanned the interior carefully. Not much was present, a couple of cabinets, a big closet and a table with some scattered chairs. Nothing unusual for the lower district, especially this close to the underground.
But the emptiness was wrong.
There were no personal belongings. No tools. No shoes. No clothes. No decorations, no plants, no signs that anyone had ever lived here. Not even dust disturbed by footsteps.
Corin moved deeper into the house and stopped before one of the cabinets. He reached out and pulled the handle.
Nothing.
The cabinet door didn't budge. He tugged harder, but it felt like it was glued shut. The door didn't move an inch, not even letting out a small squeak. He reaffirmed his grip around the handle, gripping it with both hands. He took in a deep breath and shifted his weight back. His muscles tensed, pulling with as much force as possible.
Still nothing.
Corin stared at it for a moment, then released a slow breath. He slid the pickaxe free once more, tightened his grip.
Bam!
The cabinet door caved in, splinters spraying across the room. Smoke exploded outwardly, striking Corin in the face. He waved it aside and leaned closer, peering into the cabinet.
Empty.
Nothing inside but more fog.
He stepped back, his attention shifting to something else. A wooden door at the rear of the house. It stood opposite to the broken window, so it could not lead back to the street.
As he approached, he passed a narrow staircase leading up. He cast it a brief glance, then continued toward the door.
Reaching the door, Corin examined it. A simple wooden door, secured by a single metal sliding lock. He turned around and looked towards the front of the house, the smoke obstructed his vision but he was certain.
This door was identical to the front one.
He turned back, sliced the lock open, and slowly pushed the door ajar.
Corin tilted his head.
Beyond the door lay another street. No, more precisely, the same street. A fog drowned road, and on the opposite side stood the exact same building he stood in now.
He stepped outside and turned to face the house he just left. The back of the building mirrored the one on the previous street, but this was so wrong.
It meant two halves of houses needed to be mismatched together. This side was made of different stone, it had a different roof and..
There was no second floor.
Corrin scratched his head and finally spoke.
"What the hell is going on?".
He had been racking his head this entire time. His thoughts churned as he tried to piece it together. He had left Butchery Jef after selling the peacock and rabbit. He had been heading toward the mines when the fog thickened, swallowing the streets. Then came the sound.
The wailing of a child
He froze.
It had stopped.
"When did it stop?"
Before the thought fully formed, the sound returned.
His gaze instantly shifted, it was much closer this time. Before it seemed to resonate from somewhere down the street, but he couldn't and didn't bother to pinpoint it's exact location.
Now its source was unmistakable.
The house in front of him.
The house he had just exited.
Corin scanned the fog shrouded street once more, then turned his gaze back to the building. With seemingly no other option, he followed the sound and stepped back inside.
His eyes immediately snapped to the staircase. The crying came from above.
From the upper floor that existed on one side of the street, but not on the other.
Dismissing the thought he kept following the sound, leading him upstairs.
A narrow hall greeted him. A single door stood on the left. The wailing poured directly from behind it.
Corin reached out and pushed the door open.
The crying ceased.
A foul stench assaulted his nostrils.
Blood dripped from the ceiling. A headless body was nailed to the wall, limbs twisted. A severed head lay on its side in a widening pool of blood. Behind a small desk sat a little girl, her head twisted fully backward. Crimson tears streamed from hollow eye sockets.
A room of blood and horror.
Corin stood motionless. The crescents of his eyes faded, leaving only emptiness. A single drop of blood fell from above, striking his white mask and sliding downward in a thin crimson line.
A ghost standing in hell.
That was the only way to describe this scene.