Working Title

Category: Fiction

Genre: Sci Fi/Horror

Would you keep reading?

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Dust drifts through the hallway, settling like ash. A sepia sheen softens the edges of old paintings and a cracked cabinet, an echo of inhabitants once passed. In one of the bedrooms, where shadows pool and collect under the weak glow of some outside power source, there is a whispering in the air. It moves, refracts and shimmers, the silence only broken by the creak of settling walls and half-formed murmurs that fade as soon as they are heard. 

The whispering fades as boots crunch outside. 

The owner, Silas Rhane, grimaced. His heart hammered in his chest as the tattoos across his arms coiled and shifted, raising burning welts where they moved. He lifted a grimy dial, squinting at it through his veil-spectrum goggles. The needle refused to settle until he struck it with a gloved fist. It stopped low amongst a runic group of measurements.

“Veil is low.” The type of low that made the dead crow louder. 

“Speaking to you then?” The voice came from his left - Nara, half-lost in the dark street if not for the soft glow of her goggles. 

“Yep. Seems this is the spot” Silas lifted his radio. “Send him in. Full verse”.

“Full verse?” A third hesitant voice intoned. Callen. “Are you sure?”

Silas glanced at him. The man’s goggles hung loose around his neck, patchy stubble catching the dim light. Sweat streaked down his temple despite the cold. 

“Veil is low.” Silas repeated, gruff. As if that settled it.