Flynn lets out a short, sharp breath, then nods. "Right. The well. It should be in the town square. Let's move. And stay sharp." He looks at me. "Caden, you're on point. You're the only one who can see these... shadow-things."
Being on point. Being the bait. It's my new job. I nod, my throat too dry to speak, and start walking toward the center of town. The street feels like a corridor in a nightmare, every shadow a potential threat, every open doorway a gaping maw. My senses are stretched to their limit, searching for any trace of that dark, sooty residue.
The town square is dominated by a dry stone fountain, its basin filled with dead leaves and dirt. In the center of the square stands the well, a simple stone structure with a wooden roof and a hand-crank. It looks untouched. A small, fragile island of normalcy in a sea of horror.
"Michael, get the water," Flynn commands, scanning the surrounding buildings with a wary eye. "Caden and I will watch."
Michael, looking grateful for a clear, simple task, rushes to the well. He attaches the empty bucket to the rope and begins to turn the crank. The metallic squeak of the pulley is unnaturally loud in the silence.
I circle the square, my gaze sweeping over the storefronts and houses. The dark residue is everywhere, clinging to the eaves and the shadows, but it seems dormant. Inert. Waiting.
I'm staring at a patch of soot on the side of the general store when I feel it. A faint tremor in the air behind me. I spin around.
Another one of the shadow-sentries is forming. This one is emerging from the shadow cast by the well itself. It's closer to Michael than the last one was to Flynn.
"Michael! Behind you!" I shout.
Michael yelps and drops the crank, stumbling back away from the well. The bucket, halfway up, splashes back into the depths below.
The shadow-man lurches toward Michael, its arm already stretching into a spear of darkness.
Flynn moves to intercept, but he's too far away. He'll never make it in time.
I don't hesitate. I don't think. I just reach.
This time, I try something different. Instead of just shattering it, I try to grab it. To seize the soot, the very substance of its being, and hold it.
The creature freezes mid-lunge, caught in an invisible grip. I can feel its structure through my mental grasp—a collection of tiny, vibrating particles, linked by a thread of pure malice. It's not solid. It's not even semi-solid. It's a thought given temporary form. A memory of violence.
I squeeze.
The shadow-man doesn't explode. It implodes. The soot is crushed in on itself, collapsing into a single, dense point of absolute blackness the size of a pea. The point hangs in the air for a fraction of a second, then vanishes with a faint pop, like a bubble bursting.
The force of the implosion creates a small wave of displaced air, kicking up dust and dead leaves from the ground.
Flynn, who had been charging in, skids to a halt, staring at the empty space where the creature had been. "Whoa."
Michael stares too, his face a mixture of terror and awe. "How... how did you do that?"
"I don't know," I say, honestly. I feel a flicker of... something. Not pride. Not fear. Just... understanding. These shadow-things are not like the Gloom I've used before. They are echoes. Commands left behind. And a command can be followed... or it can be countermanded.
"I think... they're not really here," I say, trying to put the feeling into words. "They're like... recordings. Traps. They don't have any will of their own. They just... activate when someone gets close."
"So you can just... delete them?" Flynn asks, a grin starting to form on his face. "Like a bad file?"
"Something like that." I nod, then turn my attention back to the town, my mind working. "If they're recordings, then the one who made them... the one with the violet hair... he had to have been here. He had to have 'recorded' them."
"You think so...?" Flynn purses his lips. "Guess it makes sense. Anything new we have no choice but to assume is somehow connected to that mysterious figure."
Logically, it can't all be so.
But logically, no Gloom Dweller could talk, or scheme, or any of the things the humanoid had done so far. So....in this case I'm not so sure how much my looking mattered.
The whole world has been turned upside down. The old rules don't apply.
I take a deep breath. We don't have the luxury of speculation. "Let's get the water and get out of here."
Michael, who had been staring at the empty space with a look of profound shock, seems to shake himself back into the present. He nods vigorously and rushes back to the well. He's more careful this time, his movements jerky with adrenaline. The crank squeaks, the bucket rises.
Flynn and I stand guard. I'm a living sensor, sweeping the area for any trace of the dark residue. Flynn is the muscle, a coiled spring ready to react to any threat I might miss. We make an odd, but effective, team.
It's strange.
Like a dream. Not exactly my dream. But something dream-shaped. The idea of Flynn and I standing back to back, fighting off the Gloom together. With our own abilities. After all those years of being a liability, he's actually relying on me.
Before I can follow that thought down into the rabbit hole of my own brain, I freeze.
It's not another shadow-thug.
It's...something else.
There are no Gloom Dwellers in this town, unless one counts those soot monster shadow things. Everything left behind is...left behind. It's a good thing because the three of us can't handle a real trap shutting on us.
I mean...
I'm pretty sure we can't. The thought sends a cold wave down my spine.
But if there are no Dwellers...
What is that?
There's a flicker of something. A pulse of light, almost invisible against the bright morning sun. It's coming from the second floor of a building across the square. A general store, its sign hanging askew. The light is faint, weak, but it's there. And it's not the Gloom. It's... the opposite. A desperate, sputtering spark of Light.
"I see something," I say, pointing. "Up there. Second floor. It's... it's...I think it could be an exorcist candle."