At first, I figured I was dead. What else could explain the swirling sky and indigo haze that enveloped the entirety of my surroundings. Even so, it was no afterlife that I had ever heard of; no golden gates; no sunny fields or Elysium; no new body, for I still held my own; and I had clearly not simply ceased to exist. I recognized the hollowed remains of my neighborhood. As I wandered, I could see doors hanging open and handbags dropped on walkways, vehicles careened into storefronts and traffic signs, skateboards and children’s toys scattered and abandoned. Indeed, maybe I had found myself in some form of Hell utterly alone with only the memories of society to keep me company. A Hell in which I was to suffer hunger. A hell in which I was to suffer exhaustion and a persistent wind chill. A hell where I had to abandon my ideologies and social construct to satisfy my base human needs.

I wanted to believe that I was dead, that would be easier for my mind to accept, and yet still I clung to the trapping of survival. If I were dead what was the need? Still, I ate. I slept and sought warmth. I left a note in every house I ransacked with a list of what I took and an addendum: "Thought I was the only one left. Will pay you back. Headed toward the Capitol Sector," signed Jeramiah Milcaster. With no other stimuli, my activities turned into a mindless darg in which I awoke at sunup, ate, packed, and traveled until just after midday, searched for shelter, scavenged until sundown, and then entertained myself with whatever my most recent temporary residence could offer.

I had lost count of how many days rolled by. What was the point in keeping track? I had no schedules to keep. Not holidays to observe. No birthdays to celebrate.

That is what I tried to convince myself of, anyway. I knew well how many days it had been. The day before I had awoken in that "Hell" I had just finished planning my own birthday outing. The day had been marked and the invitations sent. That was twenty-eight days ago. We were all supposed to meet up in the Capitol for fun, sightseeing, and hopefully minor vulgarity, and yet there I was, breaking into yet another house and rummaging around for any spirits I could find so that I could sulk and drink alone.

For once, "Hell" seemed to be on my side as I broke off a closet door handle to find a small rack of various bottles resting beneath an eccentric array of costumes. Initially I just took a bottle and nursed it while wheeling a chair around the small home-office like room, pulling various books from shelves and skimming through an assorted collection of high fantasies. Silent reading slowly evolved into out loud narration and then into acting. From there...well, someone had to put those costumes to use.

Near empty bottle in hand, stripped down naked all but a luxurious cape, heavy fur gauntlets on my forearms and shins, and horned helmet far too big for my head, I clambered up from the house's balcony to the roof and screamed at the top of my lungs, "I am the last of mankind. I know no equal," and pointed out across the street toward the apartment complex before me, "if any would dare challenge me, come forth!"

"Uh, hi?"

The voice came from below me. I turned toward the noise, leaning forward to get a better look from whence it came. They started waving their arms frantically.

"Wait! Don't lea-- oh fu--"

At first, I figured I was dead. What else could explain the swirling sky and indigo haze that enveloped the entirety of my surroundings. Even so, it was no afterlife that I had ever heard of; no golden gates; no sunny fields or Elysium; no new body, for I still held my own; and I had clearly not simply ceased to exist. I recognized the hollowed remains of my neighborhood. As I wandered, I could see doors hanging open and handbags dropped on walkways, vehicles careened into storefronts and traffic signs, skateboards and children’s toys scattered and abandoned. Indeed, maybe I had found myself in some form of Hell utterly alone with only the memories of society to keep me company. A Hell in which I was to suffer hunger. A hell in which I was to suffer exhaustion and a persistent wind chill. A hell where I had to abandon my ideologies and social construct to satisfy my base human needs.

I wanted to believe that I was dead, that would be easier for my mind to accept, and yet still I clung to the trapping of survival. If I were dead what was the need? Still, I ate. I slept and sought warmth. I left a note in every house I ransacked with a list of what I took and an addendum: "Thought I was the only one left. Will pay you back. Headed toward the Capitol Sector," signed Jeramiah Milcaster. With no other stimuli, my activities turned into a mindless darg in which I awoke at sunup, ate, packed, and traveled until just after midday, searched for shelter, scavenged until sundown, and then entertained myself with whatever my most recent temporary residence could offer.

I had lost count of how many days rolled by. What was the point in keeping track? I had no schedules to keep. Not holidays to observe. No birthdays to celebrate.

That is what I tried to convince myself of, anyway. I knew well how many days it had been. The day before I had awoken in that "Hell" I had just finished planning my own birthday outing. The day had been marked and the invitations sent. That was twenty-eight days ago. We were all supposed to meet up in the Capitol for fun, sightseeing, and hopefully minor vulgarity, and yet there I was, breaking into yet another house and rummaging around for any spirits I could find so that I could sulk and drink alone.

For once, "Hell" seemed to be on my side as I broke off a closet door handle to find a small rack of various bottles resting beneath an eccentric array of costumes. Initially I just took a bottle and nursed it while wheeling a chair around the small home-office like room, pulling various books from shelves and skimming through an assorted collection of high fantasies. Silent reading slowly evolved into out loud narration and then into acting. From there...well, someone had to put those costumes to use.

Near empty bottle in hand, stripped down naked all but a luxurious cape, heavy fur gauntlets on my forearms and shins, and horned helmet far too big for my head, I clambered up from the house's balcony to the roof and screamed at the top of my lungs, "I am the last of mankind. I know no equal," and pointed out across the street toward the apartment complex before me, "if any would dare challenge me, come forth!"

"Uh, hi?"

The voice came from below me. I turned toward the noise, leaning forward to get a better look from whence it came. They started waving their arms frantically.

"Wait! Don't lea-- oh fu--"

At first, I figured I was dead. What else could explain the swirling sky and indigo haze that enveloped the entirety of my surroundings. Even so, it was no afterlife that I had ever heard of; no golden gates; no sunny fields or Elysium; no new body, for I still held my own; and I had clearly not simply ceased to exist. I recognized the hollowed remains of my neighborhood. As I wandered, I could see doors hanging open and handbags dropped on walkways, vehicles careened into storefronts and traffic signs, skateboards and children’s toys scattered and abandoned. Indeed, maybe I had found myself in some form of Hell utterly alone with only the memories of society to keep me company. A Hell in which I was to suffer hunger. A hell in which I was to suffer exhaustion and a persistent wind chill. A hell where I had to abandon my ideologies and social construct to satisfy my base human needs.

I wanted to believe that I was dead, that would be easier for my mind to accept, and yet still I clung to the trapping of survival. If I were dead what was the need? Still, I ate. I slept and sought warmth. I left a note in every house I ransacked with a list of what I took and an addendum: "Thought I was the only one left. Will pay you back. Headed toward the Capitol Sector," signed Jeramiah Milcaster. With no other stimuli, my activities turned into a mindless darg in which I awoke at sunup, ate, packed, and traveled until just after midday, searched for shelter, scavenged until sundown, and then entertained myself with whatever my most recent temporary residence could offer.

I had lost count of how many days rolled by. What was the point in keeping track? I had no schedules to keep. Not holidays to observe. No birthdays to celebrate.

That is what I tried to convince myself of, anyway. I knew well how many days it had been. The day before I had awoken in that "Hell" I had just finished planning my own birthday outing. The day had been marked and the invitations sent. That was twenty-eight days ago. We were all supposed to meet up in the Capitol for fun, sightseeing, and hopefully minor vulgarity, and yet there I was, breaking into yet another house and rummaging around for any spirits I could find so that I could sulk and drink alone.

For once, "Hell" seemed to be on my side as I broke off a closet door handle to find a small rack of various bottles resting beneath an eccentric array of costumes. Initially I just took a bottle and nursed it while wheeling a chair around the small home-office like room, pulling various books from shelves and skimming through an assorted collection of high fantasies. Silent reading slowly evolved into out loud narration and then into acting. From there...well, someone had to put those costumes to use.

Near empty bottle in hand, stripped down naked all but a luxurious cape, heavy fur gauntlets on my forearms and shins, and horned helmet far too big for my head, I clambered up from the house's balcony to the roof and screamed at the top of my lungs, "I am the last of mankind. I know no equal," and pointed out across the street toward the apartment complex before me, "if any would dare challenge me, come forth!"

"Uh, hi?"

The voice came from below me. I turned toward the noise, leaning forward to get a better look from whence it came. They started waving their arms frantically.

"Wait! Don't lea-- oh fu--"

"Where do you think the shadow people hide during the day!" Mr. Hartwood shouted from the other side of the armchair he was now cowering behind.

The orderlies that had accompanied me on the appointment were doing their best to calm him without resorting to a show of force; all the while, Mr. Hartwood refused to open his eyes, violently shaking his head from side to side and echoing his refusal to participate in the Rorschach test. His vocalizations devolved into rambling as the orderlies began to administer a sedative and ease him toward his bed near the window on the far side of the room. I watched on in silence, occasionally glancing at the inkblot cards in my hand. Mr. Hartwood had not been the first to proclaim some connection between the cards and the rumoured existence of these "shadow people."

"Trust us, Mr. Hartwood, there are no shadow people." One of the orderlies attempted to placate the agitated man. "You all are worked up about nothing more than a ghost story."

"Just because you can't see..." Mr. Hartwood trailed off, resigning himself to silence, casting a rueful gaze in my direction. Not at me, but all around me. It took all I could muster not to cast my glance about myself in attempts to glean whatever it was that had so captivated his attention.

One of the orderlies remained behind to help me gather the rest of my things and we exited the room together. I made a note on the corner of my clipboard to reschedule an appointment just as the man behind me pulled the portiere closed behind us.

"Damn 'shadow people,'" he murmured with an exasperated huff. "It's a wonder how, or why, they come up with these stories. The whole damn thing's been a pain in our collective asses since it started." He shook his head and twisted his mouth, passing a tertiary examination over the Rorschach cards before tucking them back underneath his arm. "I know it don't take much to rile these patients up, but this? Doc, it's been weeks - what, a month and some now - and this crap is still going around?"

As if on cue, a resident intersected our path, eyes fixated on the air, arm slightly outstretched as if holding onto a leash. They abruptly stopped in front of us and turned to look our way.

"Excuse us, Ms. Darbin." The orderly offered in a gentle tone.

"No, Daisy! Sit!" Ms. Darbin exclaimed, miming pulling against a force unseen as she shifted her gaze from me to the orderly. "Please excuse us. I'm so sorry!" She spouted, still pulling at the air, and hurriedly dragged her phantom pet away.

The orderly shook his head again as we traded glances and continued on our way, stepping into an elevator. "Look, I'll be the first to admit, I was glad to get transferred to this facility. Everybody knows this is the quietest facility within the Commonality. I mean, sure there's a bunch of extra procedure and paperwork, but that's what it takes. Right? Anyway, I've worked in a few different facilities, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. Inciting rumours are always something to look out for but at least it blows over pretty quick. This though? Have you seen anything like it?"

The simple answer was no. The residents had always been good at coming up with ways to entertain themselves. We had come to accept it as an inevitability, a biproduct of their brilliant minds. In fact, we had come to recognize it as something of a competition, particularly amongst the residents that had been with us for some time. Ghost stories, rumours, hell sometimes even minor clique rivalries; all were par for the course. All fabricated like some sort of episodic sitcom. Our facilities famed quietness? Simply, nothing ever got out of hand. This incident, however, had taken things to a new level seemingly leading to mass delusions and hallucinations spanning the entirety of the facility with few residents not going on about supposed shadow people.

When we finally came to the office floor, I thanked the orderly for his assistance and declared that I would be finishing up some paperwork before I headed home for the day. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the messages that had come across since morning, most of which were reports and updates about residents continued odd behavior and requests for advice regarding medication and procedure.

I sighed and slouched back in my chair glancing once more at the Rorschach cards now resting on my desk. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand to attempt to apply scientific practice to something that held no existence beyond the eccentric minds of the residents. Still, there was an investigation to be concluded if things were ever to return to normal and I had just spent the day scaping out the only tangible link in the story. It was time to start digging deeper.

I left my lab coat behind, the universal sign of "only speak to if necessary" but took the Rorschach cards with me on my way to the opposite side of the facility where a small percentage of our residents enjoyed a pseudo-independent living situation. I passed through the regular halls and door before exiting into a spacious courtyard surrounded on three sides by apartment style buildings. The guard at the entrance waved me through with little fuss and I made my way to the eastern building then up to the fifth floor.

By the time I reached the door of my destination, I noticed that it was already open, the gentle strumming of a soothing instrumental drawling out into the hall followed by a thin haze smelling distinctly of incense. I could see straight through the apartment and past its minimalistic decorations out to the balcony where a slender girl turned perfectly in time to catch my eye as I looked in. A faint smile eased its way across her lips, and she beckoned me inside, the smoke from a cigarette between her fingers accenting her motion.

"Took ya long enough to finally come see me, Dr. DeVrard. Oh, sorry. Just Audrey when you're not in the coat, right?"

"Hey there, Lou." I sidled up beside her as she turned to look out over the river far below us.

"Still smoke?" She fished a carton from her breast pocket and waggled it in my direction.

I had not for some time but mindlessly reached for one to which she followed up with striking a match and allowing me to light my cigarette with it. She waved the match out and neatly placed it in an ash tray resting on the guard railing.

"Likin' the new cut. Didn't know if short would work for you, but it's cute. Glad you kept the color." She took a long drag and exhaled allowing a few moments to pass. "So, what's the haps? Ya only ever come up here anymore when something's gotcha tangled."

I let the cigarette hang from my mouth as I pulled the cards from underneath my arm. Before I could say anything, Louisia smiled and breathed an "ah" while reaching out a hand to take a slide from me. She gazed over it as I spoke.

"Took me awhile to find a consistent common point."

"I'll say. But do you understand it?" She shifted her eyes to me, and I offered a shake of my head. Louisia motioned for me to hand her the rest of the cards and then she began cycling through them. "Shadow people. Figments of our imagination; well, to everyone besides the imaginer. You know those sensations you get like someone is watching you, or something is in your hair, or crawling on your arm, or you feel like something brushed passed you? Here, gimme your hand."

I looked at her quizzically but slowly did as she requested. She moved my hand so that it lay outstretched on top of the guard rail and then she placed one of the cards facing up in front of my hand. I noted that it was the tenth card. She gazed down at it in silence for a time. My mind drifted to the thrum of string instruments in the background and the rushing wind hinting at a coming storm. Suddenly, a crawling sensation crept up my fingers and over the palm of my hand. I flinched but held my hand in place, looking up at Louisia who was beaming at me expectantly. It wasn't until the sensation began up my forearm that I flung my arm to one side flinging away the invisible crawler. Louisia's gaze followed something the balcony floor before she glanced back up at me.

"They lie in wait, typically on amorphous things, waiting to be given form and purpose by our minds. They feed on our imagination and cross into our realm where they take shape. They want to be seen, but you have to want to see them."

"Where do you think the shadow people hide during the day!" Mr. Hartwood shouted from the other side of the armchair he was now cowering behind.

The orderlies that had accompanied me on the appointment were doing their best to calm him without resorting to a show of force; all the while, Mr. Hartwood refused to open his eyes, violently shaking his head from side to side and echoing his refusal to participate in the Rorschach test. His vocalizations devolved into rambling as the orderlies began to administer a sedative and ease him toward his bed near the window on the far side of the room. I watched on in silence, occasionally glancing at the inkblot cards in my hand. Mr. Hartwood had not been the first to proclaim some connection between the cards and the rumoured existence of these "shadow people."

"Trust us, Mr. Hartwood, there are no shadow people." One of the orderlies attempted to placate the agitated man. "You all are worked up about nothing more than a ghost story."

"Just because you can't see..." Mr. Hartwood trailed off, resigning himself to silence, casting a rueful gaze in my direction. Not at me, but all around me. It took all I could muster not to cast my glance about myself in attempts to glean whatever it was that had so captivated his attention.

One of the orderlies remained behind to help me gather the rest of my things and we exited the room together. I made a note on the corner of my clipboard to reschedule an appointment just as the man behind me pulled the portiere closed behind us.

"Damn 'shadow people,'" he murmured with an exasperated huff. "It's a wonder how, or why, they come up with these stories. The whole damn thing's been a pain in our collective asses since it started." He shook his head and twisted his mouth, passing a tertiary examination over the Rorschach cards before tucking them back underneath his arm. "I know it don't take much to rile these patients up, but this? Doc, it's been weeks - what, a month and some now - and this crap is still going around?"

As if on cue, a resident intersected our path, eyes fixated on the air, arm slightly outstretched as if holding onto a leash. They abruptly stopped in front of us and turned to look our way.

"Excuse us, Ms. Darbin." The orderly offered in a gentle tone.

"No, Daisy! Sit!" Ms. Darbin exclaimed, miming pulling against a force unseen as she shifted her gaze from me to the orderly. "Please excuse us. I'm so sorry!" She spouted, still pulling at the air, and hurriedly dragged her phantom pet away.

The orderly shook his head again as we traded glances and continued on our way, stepping into an elevator. "Look, I'll be the first to admit, I was glad to get transferred to this facility. Everybody knows this is the quietest facility within the Commonality. I mean, sure there's a bunch of extra procedure and paperwork, but that's what it takes. Right? Anyway, I've worked in a few different facilities, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. Inciting rumours are always something to look out for but at least it blows over pretty quick. This though? Have you seen anything like it?"

The simple answer was no. The residents had always been good at coming up with ways to entertain themselves. We had come to accept it as an inevitability, a biproduct of their brilliant minds. In fact, we had come to recognize it as something of a competition, particularly amongst the residents that had been with us for some time. Ghost stories, rumours, hell sometimes even minor clique rivalries; all were par for the course. All fabricated like some sort of episodic sitcom. Our facilities famed quietness? Simply, nothing ever got out of hand. This incident, however, had taken things to a new level seemingly leading to mass delusions and hallucinations spanning the entirety of the facility with few residents not going on about supposed shadow people.

When we finally came to the office floor, I thanked the orderly for his assistance and declared that I would be finishing up some paperwork before I headed home for the day. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the messages that had come across since morning, most of which were reports and updates about residents continued odd behavior and requests for advice regarding medication and procedure.

I sighed and slouched back in my chair glancing once more at the Rorschach cards now resting on my desk. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand to attempt to apply scientific practice to something that held no existence beyond the eccentric minds of the residents. Still, there was an investigation to be concluded if things were ever to return to normal and I had just spent the day scaping out the only tangible link in the story. It was time to start digging deeper.

I left my lab coat behind, the universal sign of "only speak to if necessary" but took the Rorschach cards with me on my way to the opposite side of the facility where a small percentage of our residents enjoyed a pseudo-independent living situation. I passed through the regular halls and door before exiting into a spacious courtyard surrounded on three sides by apartment style buildings. The guard at the entrance waved me through with little fuss and I made my way to the eastern building then up to the fifth floor.

By the time I reached the door of my destination, I noticed that it was already open, the gentle strumming of a soothing instrumental drawling out into the hall followed by a thin haze smelling distinctly of incense. I could see straight through the apartment and past its minimalistic decorations out to the balcony where a slender girl turned perfectly in time to catch my eye as I looked in. A faint smile eased its way across her lips, and she beckoned me inside, the smoke from a cigarette between her fingers accenting her motion.

"Took ya long enough to finally come see me, Dr. DeVrard. Oh, sorry. Just Audrey when you're not in the coat, right?"

"Hey there, Lou." I sidled up beside her as she turned to look out over the river far below us.

"Still smoke?" She fished a carton from her breast pocket and waggled it in my direction.

I had not for some time but mindlessly reached for one to which she followed up with striking a match and allowing me to light my cigarette with it. She waved the match out and neatly placed it in an ash tray resting on the guard railing.

"Likin' the new cut. Didn't know if short would work for you, but it's cute. Glad you kept the color." She took a long drag and exhaled allowing a few moments to pass. "So, what's the haps? Ya only ever come up here anymore when something's gotcha tangled."

I let the cigarette hang from my mouth as I pulled the cards from underneath my arm. Before I could say anything, Louisia smiled and breathed an "ah" while reaching out a hand to take a slide from me. She gazed over it as I spoke.

"Took me awhile to find a consistent common point."

"I'll say. But do you understand it?" She shifted her eyes to me, and I offered a shake of my head. Louisia motioned for me to hand her the rest of the cards and then she began cycling through them. "Shadow people. Figments of our imagination; well, to everyone besides the imaginer. You know those sensations you get like someone is watching you, or something is in your hair, or crawling on your arm, or you feel like something brushed passed you? Here, gimme your hand."

I looked at her quizzically but slowly did as she requested. She moved my hand so that it lay outstretched on top of the guard rail and then she placed one of the cards facing up in front of my hand. I noted that it was the tenth card. She gazed down at it in silence for a time. My mind drifted to the thrum of string instruments in the background and the rushing wind hinting at a coming storm. Suddenly, a crawling sensation crept up my fingers and over the palm of my hand. I flinched but held my hand in place, looking up at Louisia who was beaming at me expectantly. It wasn't until the sensation began up my forearm that I flung my arm to one side flinging away the invisible crawler. Louisia's gaze followed something the balcony floor before she glanced back up at me.

"They lie in wait, typically on amorphous things, waiting to be given form and purpose by our minds. They feed on our imagination and cross into our realm where they take shape. They want to be seen, but you have to want to see them."

"Where do you think the shadow people hide during the day!" Mr. Hartwood shouted from the other side of the armchair he was now cowering behind.

The orderlies that had accompanied me on the appointment were doing their best to calm him without resorting to a show of force; all the while, Mr. Hartwood refused to open his eyes, violently shaking his head from side to side and echoing his refusal to participate in the Rorschach test. His vocalizations devolved into rambling as the orderlies began to administer a sedative and ease him toward his bed near the window on the far side of the room. I watched on in silence, occasionally glancing at the inkblot cards in my hand. Mr. Hartwood had not been the first to proclaim some connection between the cards and the rumoured existence of these "shadow people."

"Trust us, Mr. Hartwood, there are no shadow people." One of the orderlies attempted to placate the agitated man. "You all are worked up about nothing more than a ghost story."

"Just because you can't see..." Mr. Hartwood trailed off, resigning himself to silence, casting a rueful gaze in my direction. Not at me, but all around me. It took all I could muster not to cast my glance about myself in attempts to glean whatever it was that had so captivated his attention.

One of the orderlies remained behind to help me gather the rest of my things and we exited the room together. I made a note on the corner of my clipboard to reschedule an appointment just as the man behind me pulled the portiere closed behind us.

"Damn 'shadow people,'" he murmured with an exasperated huff. "It's a wonder how, or why, they come up with these stories. The whole damn thing's been a pain in our collective asses since it started." He shook his head and twisted his mouth, passing a tertiary examination over the Rorschach cards before tucking them back underneath his arm. "I know it don't take much to rile these patients up, but this? Doc, it's been weeks - what, a month and some now - and this crap is still going around?"

As if on cue, a resident intersected our path, eyes fixated on the air, arm slightly outstretched as if holding onto a leash. They abruptly stopped in front of us and turned to look our way.

"Excuse us, Ms. Darbin." The orderly offered in a gentle tone.

"No, Daisy! Sit!" Ms. Darbin exclaimed, miming pulling against a force unseen as she shifted her gaze from me to the orderly. "Please excuse us. I'm so sorry!" She spouted, still pulling at the air, and hurriedly dragged her phantom pet away.

The orderly shook his head again as we traded glances and continued on our way, stepping into an elevator. "Look, I'll be the first to admit, I was glad to get transferred to this facility. Everybody knows this is the quietest facility within the Commonality. I mean, sure there's a bunch of extra procedure and paperwork, but that's what it takes. Right? Anyway, I've worked in a few different facilities, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. Inciting rumours are always something to look out for but at least it blows over pretty quick. This though? Have you seen anything like it?"

The simple answer was no. The residents had always been good at coming up with ways to entertain themselves. We had come to accept it as an inevitability, a biproduct of their brilliant minds. In fact, we had come to recognize it as something of a competition, particularly amongst the residents that had been with us for some time. Ghost stories, rumours, hell sometimes even minor clique rivalries; all were par for the course. All fabricated like some sort of episodic sitcom. Our facilities famed quietness? Simply, nothing ever got out of hand. This incident, however, had taken things to a new level seemingly leading to mass delusions and hallucinations spanning the entirety of the facility with few residents not going on about supposed shadow people.

When we finally came to the office floor, I thanked the orderly for his assistance and declared that I would be finishing up some paperwork before I headed home for the day. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the messages that had come across since morning, most of which were reports and updates about residents continued odd behavior and requests for advice regarding medication and procedure. I sighed and slouched back in my chair glancing once more at the Rorschach cards now resting on my desk. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand to attempt to apply scientific practice to something that held no existence beyond the eccentric minds of the residents. Still, there was an investigation to be concluded if things were ever to return to normal and I had just spent the day scaping out the only tangible link in the story. It was time to start digging deeper.

I left my lab coat behind, the universal sign of "only speak to if necessary" but took the Rorschach cards with me on my way to the opposite side of the facility where a small percentage of our residents enjoyed a pseudo-independent living situation. I passed through the regular halls and door before exiting into a spacious courtyard surrounded on three sides by apartment style buildings. The guard at the entrance waved me through with little fuss and I made my way to the eastern building then up to the fifth floor.

By the time I reached the door of my destination, I noticed that it was already open, the gentle strumming of a soothing instrumental drawling out into the hall followed by a thin haze smelling distinctly of incense. I could see straight through the apartment and past its minimalistic decorations out to the balcony where a slender girl turned perfectly in time to catch my eye as I looked in. A faint smile eased its way across her lips, and she beckoned me inside, the smoke from a cigarette between her fingers accenting her motion.

"Took ya long enough to finally come see me, Dr. DeVrard. Oh, sorry. Just Audrey when you're not in the coat, right?"

"Hey there, Lou." I sidled up beside her as she turned to look out over the river far below us.

"Still smoke?" She fished a carton from her breast pocket and waggled it in my direction.

I had not for some time but mindlessly reached for one to which she followed up with striking a match and allowing me to light my cigarette with it. She waved the match out and neatly placed it in an ash tray resting on the guard railing.

"Likin' the new cut. Didn't know if short would work for you, but it's cute. Glad you kept the color." She took a long drag and exhaled allowing a few moments to pass. "So, what's the haps? Ya only ever come up here anymore when something's gotcha tangled."

I let the cigarette hang from my mouth as I pulled the cards from underneath my arm. Before I could say anything, Louisia smiled and breathed an "ah" while reaching out a hand to take a slide from me. She gazed over it as I spoke.

"Took me awhile to find a consistent common point."

"I'll say. But do you understand it?" She shifted her eyes to me, and I offered a shake of my head. Louisia motioned for me to hand her the rest of the cards and then she began cycling through them. "Shadow people. Figments of our imagination; well, to everyone besides the imaginer. You know those sensations you get like someone is watching you, or something is in your hair, or crawling on your arm, or you feel like something brushed passed you? Here, gimme your hand."

I looked at her quizzically but slowly did as she requested. She moved my hand so that it lay outstretched on top of the guard rail and then she placed one of the cards facing up in front of my hand. I noted that it was the tenth card. She gazed down at it in silence for a time. My mind drifted to the thrum of string instruments in the background and the rushing wind hinting at a coming storm. Suddenly, a crawling sensation crept up my fingers and over the palm of my hand. I flinched but held my hand in place, looking up at Louisia who was beaming at me expectantly. It wasn't until the sensation began up my forearm that I flung my arm to one side flinging away the invisible crawler. Louisia's gaze followed something the balcony floor before she glanced back up at me.

"They lie in wait, typically on amorphous things, waiting to be given form and purpose by our minds. They feed on our imagination and cross into our realm where they take shape. They want to be seen, but you have to want to see them."

“I know, I know. It sounds like a massive risk and, yes, I know I kinda sorta owe you my soul and unborn children at this point, but I’m telling you this’ll settle up all that and more!”

Kathian had not missed a breath, endlessly speaking at me since the moment I had arrived at the bar where we had agreed to meet. I was not sure why I had expected anything different. I had not even been able to able to order myself a drink before he shoved a tablet in my direction and started detailing his latest ass-backward scheme: flipping a haunted house.

“Of course, finding a buyer might take some time once we’ve got the place cleaned out, but here’s the thing: the municipality’s been haunted - heh, get it? - by this for decades now. They’d pay us beautifully just for fixing their little poltergeist problem.”

I could feel the veins in my head already primed to burst as I slowly cycled through the images of the building in question. It was massive, easily suited for two families or more - perhaps it could make for a good apartment or perhaps joint tenancy situation. The exterior was well maintained, the building only showing its age by virtue of its architectural style from eras past. Notably, there were no photos of the interior.

Kathian only broke his string of words when the waiter came by and set two drinks down on the table. They placed a tall, heated glass garnished with a cinnamon stick in front of me, the aroma alone enough to ease my growing irritation.

“Still your favorite for cold weather, right?”

I sighed, placed my elbow on the table and cheek in my hand and looked at him for the first time since I had sat down. “Kath, you have a gambling problem.”

“What ever do you mean? I’ve never so much as been near a betting circle.” That cocksure smile was unflinching.

“What in the veil do you even know about exorcising ghosts? And if you say something stupid about physical exercise, I’m gonna reach across this table and strangle you.”

He chuckled and lifted his hands in mock surrender, “alright, alright. But seriously, it’s not so much exorcising it as helping it move on. All we need to do is commune with it, see what’s up, fulfill it’s little wish, and bam-boom it drifts off to wherever the cosmos and we profit. Ah, don’t give me that look. What’s it you think I’ve been doing since I disappeared?”

“Something incredibly stupid.” I mused into my drink.

As if he did not hear me at all, “I’ve been learning from those occultists. Now, I ain’t no master at communion like some of ’em, but I bought some supplies off of ’em - incense and such - and they said anyone can do it. We just gotta be careful.”

I twisted my mouth and sighed, “how much is the property?”

“I talked ’em down to eighteen thousand trade scribs.”

“That’s…not horrible.”

“Right?”

“Fine, we’ll go see it tomorrow.”

Of course, he had no place to stay so I allowed him to stay with me. We got up as early as possible to view the house, the seller, a young man, completely accommodating without the thought of question. As soon as we arrived, he marched up to me, wide eyed, and clasped my hand between his.

“Madame, I can’t thank you enough.” Before I could respond, he had turned over my hand and placed a key and what looked like a deed in it. “You’ll find everything in order. The estate has been completely signed over to you in accordance with Commonality law.” He was moving faster than I could process. He locked eyes with me momentarily before smiling, “you really do look like her, by the way,” and then he was off, whisking past me toward the main road and climbing into his vehicle. Kathian was simply waiting for me to turn to him.

I hastily examined the deed placed in my hand noticing that my own signature and the agreed payment amount were already filled in.

“Now all there’s to get rid of the little spooky ghost. Shouldn’t be to hard really--”

The entire right side of my skull felt like it was going to cave in on itself.

“I’ve irked out how we’re going to get rid of this spirit. Quite simply, it - well, he - longs to have his wife returned to him after she was whisked away by bandits,” why did he sound like he was regaling an epic for campfire night? “Since the day the bandits left him for dead and took her from here, no one’s been able to so much as enter the place without incident. As young Master Baurnich already stated, you happen to look quite--”

“For once, just don’t even pretend you’re going to let me know what’s going on, okay?”

He offered no verbal response then and simply fished an old pendant from his pocket and handed it to me. It appeared to be one half of a whole. Kathian stated I should dawn it about my neck by the string on which it hung as he began to to assemble a small fire and set upon it an incense burner. In a haze of pale indigo, I followed him through the grand doors into the desiccated interior.

I can only describe it as an oppressive energy. Like a weight pushing down on my shoulders and pressing in on my chest. I grabbed at the pendant hanging around my neck and thrust it forward, speaking as instructed, “Benauld, please! It’s me!”

The response was almost instant. The pale smoke surrounding us whirled into shape before my eyes. The form of a middle-aged man reached out to me and embraced me, just as real as any embrace I had ever felt.

“My dear, forgive me,” he bellowed,” I am so sorry. I don’t…it has been so long. So very long.”

I sank into his welcoming arms, suddenly accost by memories separate from my own. Memories of long nights spent gazing across open fields. Memories of finding this land and building a community. Of raising children together. Of screaming matches and tearful apologies. Of protecting our livelihood against an ever-dangerous world. Of the day we gave everything we had to protect the lives we had worked so hard to nurture.

“Tel?” Kathian’s voice ripped me into the present.

Where I had once felt warmth, I suddenly felt cold. Lost. I found myself on my knees, clutching half of a pendant covered in dried blood. I wiped warm tears from my face and pushed myself to my feet. Kathian looked like he was about to open his mouth, but I took his hand in mine and placed the old pendant in it. “We ain’t selling this house.”

“I know, I know. It sounds like a massive risk and, yes, I know I kinda sorta owe you my soul and unborn children at this point, but I’m telling you this’ll settle up all that and more!”

Kathian had not missed a breath, endlessly speaking at me since the moment I had arrived at the bar where we had agreed to meet. I was not sure why I had expected anything different. I had not even been able to able to order myself a drink before he shoved a tablet in my direction and started detailing his latest ass-backward scheme: flipping a haunted house.

“Of course, finding a buyer might take some time once we’ve got the place cleaned out, but here’s the thing: the municipality’s been haunted - heh, get it? - by this for decades now. They’d pay us beautifully just for fixing their little poltergeist problem.”

I could feel the veins in my head already primed to burst as I slowly cycled through the images of the building in question. It was massive, easily suited for two families or more - perhaps it could make for a good apartment or perhaps joint tenancy situation. The exterior was well maintained, the building only showing its age by virtue of its architectural style from eras past. Notably, there were no photos of the interior.

Kathian only broke his string of words when the waiter came by and set two drinks down on the table. They placed a tall, heated glass garnished with a cinnamon stick in front of me, the aroma alone enough to ease my growing irritation.

“Still your favorite for cold weather, right?”

I sighed, placed my elbow on the table and cheek in my hand and looked at him for the first time since I had sat down. “Kath, you have a gambling problem.”

“What ever do you mean? I’ve never so much as been near a betting circle.” That cocksure smile was unflinching.

“What in the veil do you even know about exorcising ghosts? And if you say something stupid about physical exercise, I’m gonna reach across this table and strangle you.”

He chuckled and lifted his hands in mock surrender, “alright, alright. But seriously, it’s not so much exorcising it as helping it move on. All we need to do is commune with it, see what’s up, fulfill it’s little wish, and bam-boom it drifts off to wherever the cosmos and we profit. Ah, don’t give me that look. What’s it you think I’ve been doing since I disappeared?”

“Something incredibly stupid.” I mused into my drink.

As if he did not hear me at all, “I’ve been learning from those occultists. Now, I ain’t no master at communion like some of ’em, but I bought some supplies off of ’em - incense and such - and they said anyone can do it. We just gotta be careful.”

I twisted my mouth and sighed, “how much is the property?”

“I talked ’em down to eighteen thousand trade scribs.”

“That’s…not horrible.”

“Right?”

“Fine, we’ll go see it tomorrow.”

Of course, he had no place to stay so I allowed him to stay with me. We got up as early as possible to view the house, the seller, a young man, completely accommodating without the thought of question. As soon as we arrived, he marched up to me, wide eyed, and clasped my hand between his.

“Madame, I can’t thank you enough.” Before I could respond, he had turned over my hand and placed a key and what looked like a deed in it. “You’ll find everything in order. The estate has been completely signed over to you in accordance with Commonality law.” He was moving faster than I could process. He locked eyes with me momentarily before smiling, “you really do look like her, by the way,” and then he was off, whisking past me toward the main road and climbing into his vehicle. Kathian was simply waiting for me to turn to him.

I hastily examined the deed placed in my hand noticing that my own signature and the agreed payment amount were already filled in.

“Now all there’s to get rid of the little spooky ghost. Shouldn’t be to hard really--”

The entire right side of my skull felt like it was going to cave in on itself.

“I’ve irked out how we’re going to get rid of this spirit. Quite simply, it - well, he - longs to have his wife returned to him after she was whisked away by bandits,” why did he sound like he was regaling an epic for campfire night? “Since the day the bandits left him for dead and took her from here, no one’s been able to so much as enter the place without incident. As young Master Baurnich already stated, you happen to look quite--”

“For once, just don’t even pretend you’re going to let me know what’s going on, okay?”

He offered no verbal response then and simply fished an old pendant from his pocket and handed it to me. It appeared to be one half of a whole. Kathian stated I should dawn it about my neck by the string on which it hung as he began to to assemble a small fire and set upon it an incense burner. In a haze of pale indigo, I followed him through the grand doors into the desiccated interior.

I can only describe it as an oppressive energy. Like a weight pushing down on my shoulders and pressing in on my chest. I grabbed at the pendant hanging around my neck and thrust it forward, speaking as instructed, “Benauld, please! It’s me!”

The response was almost instant. The pale smoke surrounding us whirled into shape before my eyes. The form of a middle-aged man reached out to me and embraced me, just as real as any embrace I had ever felt.

“My dear, forgive me,” he bellowed,” I am so sorry. I don’t…it has been so long. So very long.”

I sank into his welcoming arms, suddenly accost by memories separate from my own. Memories of long nights spent gazing across open fields. Memories of finding this land and building a community. Of raising children together. Of screaming matches and tearful apologies. Of protecting our livelihood against an ever-dangerous world. Of the day we gave everything we had to protect the lives we had worked so hard to nurture.

“Tel?” Kathian’s voice ripped me into the present.

Where I had once felt warmth, I suddenly felt cold. Lost. I found myself on my knees, clutching half of a pendant covered in dried blood. I wiped warm tears from my face and pushed myself to my feet. Kathian looked like he was about to open his mouth, but I took his hand in mine and placed the old pendant in it. “We ain’t selling this house.”

"I know, I know. It sounds like a massive risk and, yes, I know I kinda sorta owe you my soul and unborn children at this point, but I'm telling you this'll settle up all that and more!"

Kathian had not missed a breath, endlessly speaking at me since the moment I had arrived at the bar where we had agreed to meet. I was not sure why I had expected anything different. I had not even been able to able to order myself a drink before he shoved a tablet in my direction and started detailing his latest ass-backward scheme: flipping a haunted house.

"Of course, finding a buyer might take some time once we've got the place cleaned out, but here's the thing: the municipality's been haunted - heh, get it? - by this for decades now. They'd pay us beautifully just for fixing their little poltergeist problem."

I could feel the veins in my head already primed to burst as I slowly cycled through the images of the building in question. It was massive, easily suited for two families or more - perhaps it could make for a good apartment or perhaps joint tenancy situation. The exterior was well maintained, the building only showing its age by virtue of its architectural style from eras past. Notably, there were no photos of the interior.

Kathian only broke his string of words when the waiter came by and set two drinks down on the table. They placed a tall, heated glass garnished with a cinnamon stick in front of me, the aroma alone enough to ease my growing irritation.

"Still your favorite for cold weather, right?"

I sighed, placed my elbow on the table and cheek in my hand and looked at him for the first time since I had sat down. "Kath, you have a gambling problem."

"What ever do you mean? I've never so much as been near a betting circle." That cocksure smile was unflinching.

"What in the veil do you even know about exorcising ghosts? And if you say something stupid about physical exercise, I'm gonna reach across this table and strangle you."

He chuckled and lifted his hands in mock surrender, "alright, alright. But seriously, it's not so much exorcising it as helping it move on. All we need to do is commune with it, see what's up, fulfill it's little wish, and bam-boom it drifts off to wherever the cosmos and we profit. Ah, don't give me that look. What's it you think I've been doing since I disappeared?"

"Something incredibly stupid." I mused into my drink.

As if he did not hear me at all, "I've been learning from those occultists. Now, I ain't no master at communion like some of 'em, but I bought some supplies off of 'em - incense and such - and they said anyone can do it. We just gotta be careful."

I twisted my mouth and sighed, "how much is the property?"

"I talked 'em down to eighteen thousand trade scribs."

"That's…not horrible."

"Right?"

"Fine, we'll go see it tomorrow."

Of course, he had no place to stay so I allowed him to stay with me. We got up as early as possible to view the house, the seller, a young man, completely accommodating without the thought of question. As soon as we arrived, he marched up to me, wide eyed, and clasped my hand between his.

"Madame, I can't thank you enough." Before I could respond, he had turned over my hand and placed a key and what looked like a deed in it. "You'll find everything in order. The estate has been completely signed over to you in accordance with Commonality law." He was moving faster than I could process. He locked eyes with me momentarily before smiling, "you really do look like her, by the way," and then he was off, whisking past me toward the main road and climbing into his vehicle. Kathian was simply waiting for me to turn to him.

I hastily examined the deed placed in my hand noticing that my own signature and the agreed payment amount were already filled in.

"Now all there's to get rid of the little spooky ghost. Shouldn't be to hard really--"

The entire right side of my skull felt like it was going to cave in on itself.

"I've irked out how we're going to get rid of this spirit. Quite simply, it - well, he - longs to have his wife returned to him after she was whisked away by bandits," why did he sound like he was regaling an epic for campfire night? "Since the day the bandits left him for dead and took her from here, no one's been able to so much as enter the place without incident. As young Master Baurnich already stated, you happen to look quite--"

"For once, just don't even pretend you're going to let me know what's going on, okay?"

He offered no verbal response then and simply fished an old pendant from his pocket and handed it to me. It appeared to be one half of a whole. Kathian stated I should dawn it about my neck by the string on which it hung as he began to to assemble a small fire and set upon it an incense burner. In a haze of pale indigo, I followed him through the grand doors into the desiccated interior.

I can only describe it as an oppressive energy. Like a weight pushing down on my shoulders and pressing in on my chest. I grabbed at the pendant hanging around my neck and thrust it forward, speaking as instructed, "Benauld, please! It's me!"

The response was almost instant. The pale smoke surrounding us whirled into shape before my eyes. The form of a middle-aged man reached out to me and embraced me, just as real as any embrace I had ever felt.

"My dear, forgive me," he bellowed," I am so sorry. I don't…it has been so long. So very long."

I sank into his welcoming arms, suddenly accost by memories separate from my own. Memories of long nights spent gazing across open fields. Memories of finding this land and building a community. Of raising children together. Of screaming matches and tearful apologies. Of protecting our livelihood against an ever-dangerous world. Of the day we gave everything we had to protect the lives we had worked so hard to nurture.

"Tel?" Kathian's voice ripped me into the present.

Where I had once felt warmth, I suddenly felt cold. Lost. I found myself on my knees, clutching half of a pendant covered in dried blood. I wiped warm tears from my face and pushed myself to my feet. Kathian looked like he was about to open his mouth, but I took his hand in mine and placed the old pendant in it. "We ain't selling this house."

I was a tremulous wreck, my heart pounding in my chest, hands shaking, and despite the dry frigid air I felt as though I were drenched in sweat. I had to constantly remind myself that I was supposed to be a simple city dweller now, out to peruse and purchase from his local grocer and apothecary for general household commodities. I was supposed to be blending in, instead I imagine a looked as though I had just come down from a month’s long binge on Whisker Dust. For every one cabbage I turned over in my hands, for every ounce of balewater spice I weighed, I found myself peering over my shoulder, counting the people coming and going from the marketplace, constantly aware of anyone walking too close…

“I really don’t think you need to worry so much.”

My heart went cold. I estimated the voice in question had come from no more than two feet behind me. An impossibility. No one had been close enough to have gotten behind me in the hair’s second that it took me to turn my eyes forward. I locked my eyes on the haunches that hung in the stall in front of me while slowly reaching into my jacket as evenly as I could manage.

“Please, sir, do calm down. I’d rather not like a face full of fire. Or acid. Or whatever you’ve got.”

To Hells with that, they’d get all of the above.

“Rabbit, huh?” The voice eased forward until a figure stepped beside me. “I’m more of a duck kinda guy myself.” They breathed a short chortle then, “funny, I’ve never actually seen you shopping before.”

What in the…

“Apologies.” The young man half turned toward me, a smile so large it only served to draw unease. He pushed out a gloved hand toward me, “Cosmo Plunkett. I’m a huge fan, sir, a huge fan!”

My eyes trailed from his face to his hand and back to his face. I allowed my hand to fall back to my side. “Right.” I trailed, furrowing my brow and shaking my head. I turned my attention to the stalls owner and flagged them over, requesting two rabbit haunches and then purchasing them along with the rest of the goods I had picked out. “Listen, I don’t know who you think I am, but I assure you I am not.” I said this while turning toward him. His smile barely dimmed as he withdrew his hand and stood there expectantly. I squinted then huffed, “so, bye,” and turned away.

Surely it could have only been some sort of coincidence. Whatever disguise I had chosen must have looked like one of that lad’s old friends or and uncle or some other cohort. I made a mental note to recalibrate the appearance of my Mask of Stolen Faces before I left the house again.

“They call you the Merchant King of Fiends.”

The young man’s voice startled me, coming as a sharp whisper from just behind and causing me to stumble in my own step momentarily leading him to subsequently bump into my back. Again, I had failed to notice his presence before he spoke. “First off,” I turned toward him again, “never heard of it. Secondly–“

“You’ve just fled The Desiccated Mountains to escape a parlous pursuit for your head by bounty hunters and angry mobs alike. You singlehandedly sabotaged that branch of the Adventurer’s Guild and–“

At that point, I lurched forward and covered the fool’s mouth with my hand, dropping one of my bags on the cold road, and peered at him, clutching my teeth. I could see the smile in his eyes; he was just glad he had my attention. He took a long, drawn, breath causing me to pull my hand back and curl my lip. I was thankful that in the bustle of the market-square no one appeared to be paying us much mind.

“Fine, fine.” I sighed.

“Sorry about your rabbit.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “you know what, don’t worry about it. Just keep quiet and follow me. I suppose you want to talk or something?” To which he answered with hasty enthusiasm. Now there was only the matter of getting rid of the nuisance. Permanently. That was, once I figured out how he had followed me more across the countryside without me noticing.

“Actually, you can pay me back for the rabbit. You said you like duck, right?”